


They Never Get It Right

by Scilera



Series: They Never Get It Right 'Verse [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012), The Incredible Hulk - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, Mild Crossover for purposes of PLOT, Ridiculousness of Comic Book Proportions, Romance, Snark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-15 06:21:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/846298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scilera/pseuds/Scilera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All life is a cycle.  Everywhere in the universe, this is a constant.  In at least one cycle, one lifetime, someone is bound to get it right eventually... right?</p><p>At least this time they've got a little push in the right direction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Man of Iron

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Melsheartsthings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melsheartsthings/gifts).



> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> (So this is actually for all Avengers-related characters, the list of names would just have been too long, and yes, I used Natasha's proper Russian surname instead of the Western variation.) The team comes back together after the end of the Avengers film, for whatever reason. Eventually Loki returns, perhaps with an 'escort'/guard to make sure he doesn't get into too much trouble. Jane and Darcy have moved to a (mostly) rebuilt NYC prior to Loki's return, whether because of SHIELD wanting Jane and Jane wanting Darcy or for other reasons, and the Taser-wielding former intern/assistant meets and ends up being involved with Loki. Tony and Pepper are together, as are Clint and Natasha. Thor and Jane are, of course, a thing. Just go crazy and do whatever else you want with this crew. Coulson being alive the whole time (and Fury being a lying liar who lies to get what needs to be done done) gets you awarded the internet.
> 
> This is the first installment of several which should, I hope, fulfill the requirements of the prompt. This work is a gift for whomever submitted the request. Thank you for giving me an excuse to let my muse out to play with other people's things.

 

It wasn't ego that prompted Tony Stark to saturate his Ass Kicking Time playlist with a certain Black Sabbath song.

No, really, this time it wasn't. For real.

What most people forgot about the song that bears his name, he mused as his metal-covered fist made a satisfying crunch on impact with that particular robot's face-thing, is that it has the same rhythm as the human heart at rest. Well, okay, maybe a little faster than strictly at rest, but when one is being flung through the air by a monumental metal spider that looks like it belongs in a showdown with Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones, _a little faster than strictly at rest_ was pretty damn slow.

So the dirty guitars, heavy bass and driving drums that currently blasted through the headset in his suit were doing so _strictly_ for health reasons. Pepper was always after him to relax. Blasting creepy metal dudes and their fucked up arachnid pets _was_ relaxing. Doing it while listening to classic metal made it even _more_ relaxing.

And having what essentially amounts to your theme song playing while you kick some bad guy ass never hurts.

Really, as he kicked his thrusters into gear and took aim on the newly-exposed underbelly of the biggest robot spider – “God save the Queen!” and no, he couldn't help it, it was an insect joke and it really _was_ funny – he was perfectly justified in whatever song choice he made. It was, after all, his carcass on the line when it came to this world-saving business.

Although, he reflected as one of the drones sideswiped him _hard_ from left field, maybe being able to hear 'em coming was more important than the ego boost. His ego was already quite healthy and robust, all on its own.

In the end, he just turned it down a little.

 

*

 

“JARVIS, tell me you've got the shower ready and the goddesses hot.” Tromping down into his penthouse from the rooftop landing platform and disrobing staircase, Tony Stark looked like he'd just been run over by a herd of drunk elephants. He paused, tilting his head to one side. “Or was that shower hot and goddesses ready? Eh.” He shrugged and jogged down the last few steps, making a beeline for his bar.

“Your shower is waiting, sir. Water is at one-hundred and two degrees Fahrenheit and pressure is at exactly 86% of capacity.”

Pouring himself a double, Tony lifted the glass in a salute to the room in general, though in his own head he aimed it at JARVIS. “You're a gem.” First one tossed back without even a twitch. The second one was halfway poured when he had reason to reassess his praise.

“And there's a visitor in your office, sir. A Dr Eir.”

“I thought I told you to hold all my fanmail.”

“My apologies, sir. She was quite insistent.”

“She?” That perked Tony's interest just a little bit. Lady-doctors were always so much more _interesting_ than their male counterparts – and they made those horrendous 'turn your head and cough' exams so much more _fun_.

“Yes sir, Dr Annalise Eir. Apparently her field is neural net research.” That made Tony's face fall into a very manly sort of pout. There went glass number two.

“Of course she couldn't just be a _normal_ doctor. Where's all the normal gone, JARVIS? I need some normal back.” He poured himself drink number three and grumbled.

“I believe that is what Miss Potts is for, sir,” JARVIS answered blandly just as Tony had tipped back his third. He certainly didn't program an algorithm for comedic timing into this last update, but damn if that wasn't executed at the precise moment to get a truly magnificent spittake. Tony had to admit, if just to himself, that if it had been executed on anyone but him, he would have been _proud_.

“Did she tell you to say that?” he challenged his AI.

“How could she possibly have done so, sir? Miss Potts is in Korea for the technological summit and it would be beyond impossible to predict such specific lines of inquiry.” The simulated voice was just as flat and blandly pleasant as always, but Tony wasn't reassured. Narrowing his eyes and making a mental note to do a system-wide cleanup of JARVIS' subroutines, he poured himself a replacement for that lost drink and tossed it back on his way to the penthouse bathroom.

“Whatever. Tell this Dr Eir to come back another time. I have a date with the shower.”

“Much as I hate to interrupt your 'goddess time', Mister Stark, I'm afraid I simply can't wait.”

Now _that_ made Tony jump. Whipping around to stare at the source of that definitely feminine voice, he saw a short, thin woman with unremarkable brown hair lounging back on his sofa like she owned it. He couldn't see her eyes behind her fashionable sunglasses, but given that the rest of her wardrobe looked like she shopped at the same places as Pepper on a quest for global business domination, he figured he could probably guess just exactly how she was looking at him.

“Sunglasses at night, huh? I like the statement, but couldn't we go with something a little less eighties?” he asked with deceptive lightness. Anyone who could bypass his security protocols and just show up in his penthouse was not a threat to be taken lightly. “You're Dr Eir, I presume?”

She nodded, a smile twisting her lips that reminded him _far_ too much of trouble to be comforting.

“You know, the last person who walked through my security like that would have turned me into a Blue Man groupie if he hadn't had performance issues.” He noticed a tightening of the skin around her mouth at that, which made him kind of proud for so easily hitting the mark, but also ratcheted up his nerves. “And the guy before that was bent on _handing me things_.” He gave a mock shudder and stepped around the curve of the couch to lean on the end of the low wall separating the living area from the rest of the suite. “I'm not a big fan of either option.”

She laughed softly. “Rest assured, Mister Stark, that I have no intention of doing either. I merely wanted to show you something.” Her voice was nice to listen to, actually. The accent was _almost_ American, but too soft on the 'r's and too precise on the whole to have come from anywhere in the good old U S of A. He gave her an overly suggestive appraisal and shrugged.

“Does it involve less clothes? I'm all for show and tell with pretty ladies.” He spared a moment to be grateful Pepper was on the other side of the world. Just because he'd realized who his match was didn't mean all his 'wartime banter' would magically change, too. He needed time to work on new material and time was something he didn't really think he had, here.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Mister Stark, but there's only one man who gets to play that game.” There was something vaguely dangerous mixed with the flirtation in her voice that made Tony decide he kind of liked her. Now if only he wouldn't have to kill her. “And he isn't always what you'd call... sane.” He couldn't tell if she was serious or just fucking with him and it threw him off-balance.

“Don't suppose he's tall and skinny, huh? Black hair, pale skin, god complex, helmet like something out of El Toro?” At least it sounded casual, even though he mentally kicked himself for being that sloppy. Conversational precision wasn't really his thing and normally he even preferred a good bit of mess, but he didn't have backup here and his suit was far enough out of reach that really bad things could happen between here and there, especially if this woman was another one of those Ass-God-things.

Doubly so if she had some association with good old Reindeer Games.

She just smiled. That was supposed to be a reassuring expression, Tony complained to himself. Seems whoever made that rule never met Asgardians. “Not as such,” she answered. He reasoned that was better than an out-and-out 'yes'. “Not your version, anyway.” Oh shit. “Much too young and watered-down for my personal taste.”

“Lady, the last time 'our version' showed up he almost wrecked the planet. Hard. If that's 'watered-down' to you, I'd rather not meet your man. No offense.” That made her laugh again, this time much less menacingly.

“Smart man. Never fear, Mister Stark. I believe I can safely say you'll never have a reason to meet him. If you'll permit me the use of your screens, I can conduct my business here and you won't have a reason to meet _me_ again, either.” Using the hand still holding the now-empty glass, Tony gestured for her to go ahead. She wasn't likely to leave until she did and if he was honest he was a little bit curious now.

She stood from her reclining position and moved across the penthouse with a fluid grace that reminded him too much of a cat for his comfort. In his experience, women who moved like that could usually kill you in three moves.

He didn't think he had the luck to die because she broke his neck with her thighs. Not that he wanted to chase the white light or anything, but if a guy's gotta go...

While she woke up three of the holographic screens, he returned to the bar. This merited another drink. Or two. “Want one?” he asked, holding up the bottle to explain. She looked at him strangely for a moment and then nodded. He reached for a clean glass and poured another. By the time he was close enough to hand it to her, she had pulled up all three displays and was fishing a small blue cube from her pocket. She took the glass with a smile and a soft 'thank you' but that cube made him jump back a good pace or two.

“Hold on a second there, doctor. I've seen this song and dance before.” She turned toward him and lowered her head as if to regard him over her sunglasses in a manner that was _far_ too 'Pepper' for him to be immune. Especially when, even at this angle, he couldn't quite make out her eyes.

“Relax, Tony. This one's just a storage device.” He felt a little bit silly for leaping back as he did, but he wasn't quite dumb enough to come closer.

“Right, and the last one was just a battery.” She snorted her amusement – Tony felt that it was patently unfair that anyone could _snort_ and still be elegant about it – and took a drink from her glass.

“Something like that, yes. This is good. I'm impressed with your taste.” Tony couldn't tell if he'd just been complimented or insulted and he didn't really care much for that feeling.

“Thanks. So whatcha got to show me?”

“Surveillance video,” she answered simply, her voice clipped as tension crept into her frame. Whatever this video was, Tony realized, it made her _mad_. “I assume you have a strong stomach?”

“I beg your pardon?” Tony didn't like where this was going, not one bit.

“I understand you were a prisoner of war, once, Mister Stark.” She was looking straight at him and this time her voice was surprisingly gentle. He nodded stiffly. “You need to see this. I'm sorry, but I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. I recommend you watch it on an empty stomach.” She must have finished uploading whatever it was she wanted to show him from the cube because she picked it up and slid it back into her pocket. Downing the rest of her drink, she turned to face the door. As she passed Tony, she paused and placed a hand on his shoulder. For just an instant, Tony Stark saw his mother, his grandmother, his nanny, his school nurse, Pepper and many other faces flash across this strange woman. Every strong female he'd ever known – those who did not take up arms but were invaluable to every stage of his life – was there in some form or facet. It made it really hard to remember just exactly what _she_ looked like.

And then she was gone.

 

*

 

Tony Stark was not very good at following directions. A man driven by the process of understanding the incomprehensible, he couldn't just leave the unknown footage sitting there waiting for a better time. The mysterious Dr Eir had barely disappeared before he was pulling up the stool and keying across the protocols that would scan the transferred data packages for any malware before opening them. They came up clean. Fully realizing that someone with access to the technology of the tesseract could hide viruses even JARVIS couldn't pick up, Tony took a leap of faith, followed his gut and opened the first file.

It was only three minutes of footage and already he felt sick. Pale, he opened the second file and promptly lost all four of those fantastic drinks. One wrist lifted to wipe across the back of his mouth. Determined – and more than a little bit angry – he turned back to open the final file. This one was longer, but he didn't have anything else left to vomit. All he had was a violent, white-hot anger that the creatures in the footage he was witnessing were allowed to even _exist_.

“ _I'll make you beg for something as sweet as pain.”_

It was the only sound attached to the file and it made his skin crawl. When he finally saw the face of their victim, however, he slammed both fists down onto the desk.

“Damn it, woman!”

Tony Stark was a simple man of simple pleasures – his biography said so – wanting nothing so much as a simple life where the good guys were good, the bad guys were bad and there was no such thing as 'why'. Simplicity, however, was what it seemed he would always be denied. “JARVIS, get me Fury.”

“Sir, it's three in the morning on the east coast.”

“I don't care,” he growled, stomping back up the stairs to get suited. “Wake his ass up.” That shower was just going to have to wait.

As the static rush of blasters signaled his departure from the tower, slowly the various pieces of the penthouse suite shut off one by one. Only one screen was left hovering over the workstation. It held a familiar face contorted in unimaginable agony and a simple message.

_**You know what this does to the mind. I'm sorry.** _


	2. Shamewalk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cool thing about these snazzy elevators was the glass they were built out of sort of magnified everything a little bit so that the entire skyline was crystal clear and up-close in the way you usually couldn't get outside a documentary. The not-so-cool thing was just how slow they crawled. It was taking forever to get down 26 floors. 
> 
> Although she had to admit, at least to herself, that she might have gotten just a tiny bit spoiled by the zoom-a-vators at Stark Tower and SHIELD HQ.

 

 

If Darcy Lewis was a goddess, she liked to think she would be the Goddess of iPods.

That wasn't honestly an odd thought for a girl her age. Unlike the rest of her demographic, however, she'd actually had reason to wonder about it. Goddess of Music had sounded nice at first – almost every major, life-changing decision she'd made had been influenced by something blaring loudly down her earbuds – but pretty much every culture already had that one covered, so it was out. Still, Goddess of iPods didn't _quite_ have the ring she was looking for. Goddess of Apple Products, maybe?

A small, rational part of her mind told her it was far, _far_ too early to be even thinking about this. Fuzzy-headed and heavily hung-over, the rest of her agreed. She was pretty sure she had some Alka-Seltzer in the bathroom cabinet somewhere from the last time Jane had a cold. Erik swore by the stuff. Rolling to her back, she forced one eye open while rubbing sleep-crust out of the other and _froze_.

This was _so_ not her bedroom.

Okay so, you know how it was actually less-than-usually-abnormal for Darcy Lewis to wonder what she'd be the goddess of? Right. That was the same reason she was about to piss herself silly when she woke up and didn't recognize where she was.

In her line of work, waking up in strange places was kind of SOP.

Unfortunately for her, most of the time the people who did the waking up in those weird places had superpowers to put Spiderman to shame. It wasn't supposed to be normal, powerless _Darcy_ in these situations. At the very least, she wasn't supposed to get into them alone.

A less-than-dignified groan-grunt from somewhere very close to her left shoulder made Darcy realize two things.

One: She knew _exactly_ where she was – and it wasn't an evil bad guy's super lair... but she kind of wished it was.

Two: She was absolutely, brilliantly, horrifyingly, one-hundred-percent naked.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she ignored the stiffness of last night's eyeliner/mascara combo and mouthed a string of curses that Jane would have thrown soap at her for and might even impress Erik a little. Taking about nine thousands deep breaths, Darcy took stock of her surroundings and very quickly made an escape plan.

She could see _most_ of her clothes from where she was laying. Anything she couldn't find as she went could be replaced later. Sparing a moment to thank any deity listening that she stopped letting her mothers put her name on the tags of things in like, eighth grade, she slid very carefully out of bed. She was still a little wobbly-legged from the hangover, so instead of standing, she ended up sitting on the carpet for just a moment, listening hard for any sounds that the guy still in the bed – Fuck, what was his _name? –_ might be waking up. While waiting and listening, she decided carpet on your bare ass felt far too weird and that all those trashy novels had to be lying about sex being epic when there were rug burns involved.

After another dozen breaths or so, she felt reasonably confident that he wasn't going to sit up and demand answers she didn't have in an awkward conversation she so couldn't handle. Pushing herself up slowly, she took a minute to relocate her center of gravity and went about the business of getting dressed as quickly and _quietly_ as possible.

Tony Stark, she decided as she finished hooking her bra and tugged her slinky dress over her head, was a _terrible_ influence. Sure, he was a funny guy and all. And sure, he was one of the few people who could keep up with her weird leaps of logic – and, she suspected, if she was anywhere near as smart as he was on shit like electrons and dark matter, the reverse would be true as well – and she had _certainly_ been more than willing to take him up on 'a few friendly introductions' the last time he was in NYC. She needed a distraction from the heaviness of her life – seriously, it amazed her sometimes that she was the only one who treated their work at SHIELD as anything other than completely unreal bordering on the insane – and he got that. It _had_ helped, she had to admit that. Sometimes you saw shit that demanded a good fifth of Jack to help you forget you saw it – or forget it bothered you, which was kind of the same thing. But this? This was _so_ not making her life any less heavy.

Grabbing her heels in one hand and sneaking in what _might_ be an overly dramatic manner out of the penthouse flat, she made a mental note to figure out a way to blackmail Tony into putting her on the call list for his 'emergency rescue limos'. At least there were no other residents on this floor. Once she had gently shut the door behind her, she was free to make a mad dash down the hall to the elevator like there really _was_ a supervillain on her ass. Unable to adjust completely for her hungover momentum, she hit the wall with a dull thud and a low 'oof', wasting no time in mashing the button that would summon the elevator to take her to relative safety.

At least at home she could nurse her hangover in quiet semi-privacy for a while. She was notoriously not a morning person. She could pass this off as no more than that, surely. She hit the button another couple of times just for good measure, trying _very_ hard to ignore the P!nk song currently tunefully mocking her inside her own head.

_Please God, don't let anybody see me._

Darcy tried very hard not to cry with relief when a soft ding preceded the gentle 'whoosh' of the elevator doors. That relief was sadly very short-lived. Standing inside the elevator was a woman who reminded Darcy of nothing so much as Pepper Potts if she'd been turned into a goddess. Goddess of Business, that'd be Pepper for sure. That thought made Darcy giggle in spite of herself. Or maybe Goddess of Keeping Tony Stark in Line. That was a job and a half all on its own.

“Good morning, Miss Lewis,” the beautiful elevator woman greeted with a warm smile that reminded Darcy too much of her last mom for comfort. “I believe the term you're looking for is 'Goddess of Showers' – at least as pertains to Mister Stark.” That woman had never looked this good in Gucci. The absurdity of that thought distracted Darcy from the fact that in her line of work it was generally a Really Bad Idea to get into elevators with strange women who knew her name and could maybe-possibly read her mind. That was _totally_ the excuse she was going with if things went south.

“Um. Hi?” _Smooth, Darcy,_ she thought grumpily. _Try again._ “Er, I'm sorry. Have we met?” She was trying very hard to strike a pose and tone of someone who most definitely was _not_ pulling a Walk of Shame.

“Not yet, strictly speaking.” Darcy frowned. Her head hurt, her body ached and her mouth was dry. She was not in the mood for more of these damn cryptic people. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Lewis. Dr Annalise Eir, at your service.”

“Uh, yeah. Nice to meet you, too.” Darcy shook the offered hand and slumped against the side of the elevator. Cool side note about ritzy New York elevators – the nice ones have walls made of glass. “So, uh,” she started after a moment of silence. “Are you a friend of Jane's?” That just made the weird woman smile.

“Not yet.”

“Fury's?”

“Hardly.”

“Uh, Coulson's?”

“Hah! He wishes.”

“Tony's?” That made her smile wider.

“Something like that.”

Darcy pulled a face and tried very hard to make out what she could of this woman around her stylishly-large sunglasses. Soft brown hair a couple shades lighter than Darcy's own, pale skin, not much in the curve department, but a _fantastic_ fashion sense. She was fabulous but forgettable. If she hadn't greeted her by name and proceeded to act in a very bizarre fashion, Darcy was pretty sure she would never even have noticed or remembered her later.

“So.” The whole smiling in silence thing was creeping Darcy out more than just a little. “Is there something I can do for you? I mean, normally I'd have to do the whole 'warning you off kidnapping me' thing, but I didn't bring my taser with me, so... yeah.” The cool thing about these snazzy elevators was the glass they were built out of sort of magnified everything a little bit so that the entire skyline was crystal clear and up-close in the way you usually couldn't get outside a documentary. The not-so-cool thing was just how slow they crawled. It was taking _forever_ to get down 26 floors.

Although she had to admit, at least to herself, that she might have gotten just a _tiny_ bit spoiled by the zoom-a-vators at Stark Tower and SHIELD HQ.

Dr Eir just smiled, turning around to face outwards and stare at the city-scape as they inched lower. Darcy wasn't sure if she was seeing things given the amount of alcohol she'd consumed the night before, but she could have _sworn_ that Doctor Crazy Lady was mouthing some kind of countdown. Starting to get _really_ freaked out now, Darcy opened her mouth to start demanding answers when a flash of red-and-gold caught her eye.

“Was that...?”

“Mister Stark, yes. I imagine you should be grateful you don't have to go into work today.” To Darcy, that sounded more than a little ominous, despite the fact that Dr Eir had spoken no differently than any one friend remarking on work to another. She didn't really have anything to say to that though, so she just bounced on the balls of her feet for another two floors before her hungover brain reminded her she still hadn't gotten an answer.

“You ready to tell me what you want with me, yet?” She tried her best to keep the question casual. Actually, being tired and hung over kind of helped that, she thought. It was hard to sound scared when you really just wanted to crawl under your pillow and pass out for a week. Also that stupid song would _not_ get out of her head. This was ridiculous – she hadn't listened to P!ink since high school!

Well okay, that was a little bit untrue, but – digressing.

“I'm only here to ensure you get safely into a cab home, Miss Lewis.” The doctor's voice was such a mix of pleasant professionalism and Lord of the Rings elf that Darcy found she really _wanted_ to believe her.

“Uh-huh. Well, unfortunately for you, I'm not important enough to anything for anyone I know to bother sending someone like you just to make sure I'm out the door 'safe and sound',” she chirped right back, managing to keep most of the bitterness out of her voice. Despite its perks, sometimes it was hard to be one of the few normal people around a base full of geniuses and super heroes. “So try again.” The silence in the elevator following that was so total that Darcy had to turn around just to make sure the crazy woman hadn't disappeared – or that her hungover brain hadn't made the whole thing up to begin with.

Dr Eir was still there, but she had gone very still and was staring at Darcy with some unreadable expression. Damn this fashion trend for dark lenses that hide 60% of people's faces. In some distant part of her mind that wasn't currently occupied with feeling like a mouse in front of a tiger and generally being scared shitless, Darcy registered that the elevator too had stopped moving. It was as if her entire world had pressed pause, but then the soft ding that cued the opening of the doors brought everything sharply back into focus.

“Don't ever make the mistake of thinking that you are insignificant, Darcy Lewis. The success of everything depends on _you_.”

The doors slid smoothly open and the mysterious doctor gave her a bright smile that Darcy returned before she even knew what she was doing.

“Ah, there we are. Good day, Miss Lewis.”

That shook Darcy out of her stupor and she barely managed a polite nod before scrambling out of that elevator and walking briskly across the lobby with that weird kind of stride that was almost running but still trying really hard to pass itself off as a 'brisk stroll'. She made it halfway across before Dr Eir's voice stopped her.

“Oh, and Miss Lewis?” Darcy huffed out a sigh and turned around to see Dr Eir lounging against the back of the elevator with her arms folded across her chest and a truly _wicked_ smile on her face. “Next time, don't announce that you're helpless – even among friends, it's always better if everybody thinks you've got the taser.” The look on Darcy's face must have reflected her sleepy irritation at being called out on such a 'noob' mistake, because Dr Eir's laughter rang out clear and bright as the doors closed between them and Darcy stomped outside to try and wave down a taxi.

 

*

 

“ _... and now we go live to Carol Denvers who is standing outside the 51 st Street Pullman Building as a rescue effort is underway to retrieve internet mogul Jonathan Parish from the ledge outside his window where he has been since early this morning. Carol, what's the news from the ground?”_

“ _Thank you, Tom. Well, rescue teams have been successful in retrieving Mr. Parish from the ledge and he's currently en route to St. Peter and Paul hospital for minor injuries from exposure and dehydration. No word yet on exactly **why** he was out there in the first place, but witnesses report that Mr. Parish claims complete ignorance and this among reports of a malfunctioning elevator during the time when Mr. Parish is assumed to have begun his 26-floor-high escapade leave a lot of questions to be answered. We'll have more details as they come in. Back to you, Tom.”_

 


	3. Sinatra in the Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I'll do better than try, ma'am, if you really think it'll do any good. I don't pretend to understand all of it, but I had a few good people in my corner when I needed it the most. I kinda owe it to them to pay it forward.”

 

 

There was a bench in Central Park, situated in a rather perfect spot to people-watch by. Steve liked to spend evenings there, facing the wooded part of the park that hadn't changed much at all since he used to know it. In a world that seemed determined to erase any traces of its past or history, this little section of New York was his secret sanity when life got to be a little too much to handle. Tonight, however, he didn't seem to be enjoying himself as much as he usually did. There were worry lines etched into his face and he alternated between sipping at his hot chocolate and nervously playing with the screen of his phone.

After breaking the first one when he made to touch the screen a bit too firmly, Steve had adapted surprisingly well to the touch-screen bits of tech that swamped his life. The concept was intrinsic, he supposed. No different than reaching out to manipulate actual, analog things. Probably why it agreed with him so much. He was probably more obvious than he should have been about waiting for someone, but if the utter surprise, impossible hope and crushing defeat that rushed through him – all done in a blink and smoothed over with his more typical 'soldier on' face – didn't deceive him, he wouldn't have to wait much longer.

“Dr Eir?” he asked over the Styrofoam cup that had frozen halfway to his mouth. The focus of all those complicated emotions nodded once and took a seat next to him on the bench. She was just as Tony had described her, pale and pretty and possessing an unmistakable aura of being 'in charge'. She wore the sunglasses that had so mystified their team's self-proclaimed Woman Expert, but where Tony swore up, down and sideways that she was like Pepper's funnier brunette clone, Steve could only see one face in his mind's eye.

It really didn't help that she'd met him dressed in a simple brown pencil skirt and blazer underneath what he supposed was a fashionably retro fawn-colored trenchcoat. For just the tiniest fraction of an instant, his mind had taken the silhouette and filled in the details it wanted to see. It made him feel a little sick to his stomach.

“I'd wondered, you know.” Her voice was soft and somehow sad. “My mother had an aunt who served in your war. She was Mother's favorite growing up and one of the few voices of sense I can remember as a small child.” Her accent wasn't the cultured British he remembered, but it was too close to it to be properly American, either. If he'd had to guess, he'd have placed it closer to the weirdly precise accents of Thor and his brother than anything Earthbound, but there were faint hints of the Isles that would slip out from time to time, if one knew what he was listening for. “I never understood why she didn't marry. I remember thinking she was the most beautiful woman I ever knew and she was older than my grandmother. No one talked about those kinds of things at home, you see.”

His participation in this part of the conversation didn't seem to be required. Steve wondered if he should be offended, but deep down he knew that if he asked her to stop, she would.

He just frankly didn't want her to.

That weakness stung him, riled his fragile pride. The past was done, there was no use wallowing in it. Despite the number of times he told himself that, there was no denying that he soaked up her words like a flower sucking at sunshine. The busker setting up nearby was a welcome distraction.

“I understand it now.” Despite implying nothing intimate at all in her voice or manner, those words were like a balm to old scars. “She loved you very much.” Dr Eir turned her head toward him, sharing one of those conspiratorial smiles that are almost always reserved for brothers-in-arms. “But you don't need me to tell you that.”

He chewed on the inside of his mouth and stared at his cup of hot chocolate. He'd never admit it – _could_ never admit it – but he _had_ kind of needed to hear that.

“With all due respect, ma'am,” he ventured, his own voice quiet and uncertain. “What is it you _do_ think you need to tell me?” He ventured a sideways glance in her direction, but dressed like that, with those chocolate-colored curls and those sunglasses preserving the illusion... Looking at her was just too hard.

“I won't waste your time, Captain Rogers.” That gave him pause. Tony had said she'd seemed to take particular delight in toying with him.

Then again, that _was_ often a strong woman's response to Tony Stark. Even Steve had to admit that. And beside that point was the respect he could hear in her tone, sense in her demeanor. She spoke to him like one soldier to another, like old veterans beaten down by sorrows they couldn't hope to make anyone else understand. He might be naive, like they said, but he was inclined to trust this strange woman.

At the very least, it couldn't hurt to hear what she had to say.

The busker had finished tuning his guitar and was starting to croon familiar tunes into his makeshift microphone and amplifier. It was somehow a fitting backdrop to this surreal rendezvous.

“I was told once, by a very reliable source, that you don't much care for bullies.” She wasn't looking at him anymore, but he could still see just the edge of a smile. “Is that still so?”

Steve nodded with all the solemnity the occasion merited. “Yes, ma'am, it is. I... Well, I guess you know I've got plenty of experience being the 'little guy'.” She made a humming sound of agreement and turned to watch the busker and the small crowd he'd gathered.

Without another word, his bench-mate handed him an orange envelope – the kind often used to send important documents or very small packages. Curious, he bent the little metal clasp and tipped the contents into his lap. There were two DVDs inside. That technology he'd gotten a fair enough handle on to recognize it, even if he couldn't always work the blasted player. Staring at the covers without seeming to see them, he tipped the pair back into the envelope and sealed the open end. The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable by any means and Steve wanted a moment to mull this over.

“Why are you doing this?” he finally asked, still staring blankly at the nondescript envelope. She didn't answer right away either. He was okay with that, too. They had time and he understood, even if no one else from this time did, that some conversations were better off for not being so rushed.

“Because I had my own date to go dancing,” she finally answered, her voice choked and little more than a whisper. For just a moment, she sounded impossibly old – old and tired. “And I've been waiting so much longer than just a century.” Her words didn't make much sense, given her family history, but nothing she'd said so far had rung false in his ears. Steve could admit to himself that he wanted to see the best in people, but he was certain his ability to judge character wasn't completely withered. He was surprised to be pulled from his own inward thoughts by the sound of her sniffing quietly. Steve knew that sound too, of someone very good at silencing the evidence of a momentary lapse in tear-duct control. He didn't remark on it – such hurts were the most private of things, he knew – but he fished in his pocket and wordlessly extended an immaculately folded white handkerchief.

Dr Eir hesitated, surprised, but accepted the offer with a soft 'thank you'. They spent another few moments in companionable silence, listening to the soft crooning of the busker and watching a few older couples swaying in a stolen evening's dance right there in the park.

“He needs a friend, Captain Rogers. I hope I can put my faith in you to at least try?”

“I'll do better than try, ma'am, if you really think it'll do any good. I don't pretend to understand all of it, but I had a few good people in my corner when I needed it the most. I kinda owe it to them to pay it forward.”

The doctor looked at him then with a mix of affection and a kind of motherly pride. “Watch those, Captain Rogers. You'll find more answers than you realize.” Steve had another flash where his mind stuck another face there instead of hers, but this time it only made him smile.

“I will, ma'am, if you'll call me 'Steve'.” He ducked his head, a little embarrassed both by the forwardness and by the fact that such things still made him blush. “I'm not really a captain anymore."

“Only if you'll call me Anna in return. I don't think we'll get the pleasure of seeing much of each other, Steve, but I am very honored to have met you. Thank you for hearing me out.” And with that, she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and stood from their little bench retreat, preparing herself for only God knows what. The busker switched his tune to a slow and pulsing introduction that was so familiar it made it hard to breathe. It also gave him an idea.

“Hey, Anna,” he called gently, catching her before she was even three paces away. She stopped and turned back to face him. He stood in front of the bench with his hands in his pockets and a shy sort of crooked smile on his face. “I know I'm not the date you were waiting on, but if you'd do me the honor, I'd sure like to have a dance while you wait for him.”

There was a hesitance, a wariness in her response that Steve honestly had only ever seen in wild things before. In the coyotes and feral cats or the occasional deer. Half of him expected her to flee, to vanish, but she didn't. After a long moment of consideration, a smile bloomed on her face that was warm and contagious. “I'd like that.”

When she took his hand, he noticed that her skin was cool to the touch, so much so that he doubted anyone he knew could be that temperature and still be standing, let alone dancing. With one hand on her waist and the other holding her hand, he swayed with her right there in Central Park, amongst half a dozen old couples and the crooning busker who evoked so many memories of what had once been good and right and _home_.

 

 

*

 

 

Later that night, Steve sat cross-legged on the floor in front of his television, staring at static snow after having watched what could only be described as the most bizarre, alien home-movie-slash-documentary he'd ever seen. After another few minutes of trying to wrap his head around first what he'd seen and second how Anna had compiled all the information she did, he reached across to grab his phone off the empty couch. A few finger-flicks breezed through his speed-dial contacts and then he held the device up to his ear while it rang.

“ _You've got Stark. Make a wish!”_

“Tony?” he asked into the receiver, checking to make sure it was actually his friend and not the message taking machine.

“ _Yeah, s'me Cap. Whatcha need?”_

“Doctor Eir found me in the park tonight.”

“ _Damn, and here I was afraid she was just another one of my fangirls.”_

Steve had no idea what 'fangirls' were or why Tony would think Dr Eir was one of them. After the things he'd seen and done that evening, the scabs he'd picked at, he wasn't really in the right mood to stick around and find out.

“If you can convince Fury, I'm in.” He didn't give Tony a chance to respond – because if he had, they'd be there for at least another twenty minutes – and tapped the 'end' button before tossing his phone back on the empty couch. He stared blankly at the snow on his tv screen a bit longer and then leaned forward to hit the replay button on his DVD machine. There was a bit somewhere in there about fire giants he kinda wanted to see again.


	4. Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They stood on a surface made from the same material as the Bifrost bridge. All around them was darkness mixed with pockets of color and brilliance as all of existence spun around them. Loki had long been called the God of Chaos and had much love for that title, but the entropy on display here was enough to make even he feel weak and sick to his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's to hoping some of the confusion will be cleared up a bit with this chapter. 
> 
> With my luck, it'll probably only make it worse. :P Oh well, enjoy anyway!

 

 

Asgard at sunset was indeed one of the most beautiful sights in all the Nine Realms.

There was no cloud-cover to obscure the breathtaking views of the nebula that surrounded their world and the rays of sunlight made the famed city of the gods light up like Prometheus' fire. Standing on a balcony high above the sprawling cliffside paradise, a single man breathed deeply of his home's sea-breezes and reflected on the perils of living for too long in an ever-changing cosmos. There were lines of despondency and exhaustion carved deeply into his weathered face that not even his half-obscuring helmet could hide. Odin Allfather was remembering and remembering – as necessary as it often was – _hurt_ worse than almost anything.

A soft noise behind him caught his attention, but he was not alarmed. It was as familiar as the warm presence and soft hand on his own that followed. One could not be married to Frigga Fjörgynnsdottir for as many millennia as he had without learning to recognize signs of her coming. Theirs was a companionable silence, each lost in private portions of a shared grief. It was Frigga who broke it first.

“Sunset was always Loki's time,” she observed quietly, putting voice to her husband's unspoken thoughts. “Sunrise belonged to Thor, the chill promise of much warmth and light to come, but this... The last burst of heat and light as a shield before the long cold darkness, this was always his.” Her words made Odin turn and watch the red-golden light play over his wife's beloved face.

“He has chosen a new time, now,” he replied, voice hollow. “That long cold darkness doesn't seem as fitting a companion, but my counsel would not be appreciated at present.”

It was funny, he thought, in a truly cosmically ironic way. It was his curse to remember everything. He drank the water from Mimir and paid the price for his wisdom. All things that came before, that had already come to pass it was his burden to know. Contrarily, all things future and yet to come to pass were the purview of his wife and queen. And yet, she spoke of the past and he of the future. That was the way it had always been and the way it would always be. Frigga squeezed his hand and he turned it over to grasp hers in response. Neither one of them needed to voice the parental agony that was quietly nursed in both hearts. There were no words capable of expressing it even if they had wanted to try.

Their face for their people was one of pride and joy, for the Crown Prince had returned in glory and triumph, truly worthy of the mantel he would one day bear. They all had their part to play and even their more headstrong son had accepted it with a kind of quiet resolution. Underneath that surface, however, all three of them were broken. Their family had been torn asunder by forces and for reasons they still did not understand. There was no member left unscathed – including the prodigal son himself.

“I will have to pass judgment someday,” Odin confided to his wife. It was a knowledge that made him feel every one of his many years. “I cannot hold them off forever.”

“No,” his wife agreed with him quietly. “You cannot.” There was something new in her tone that made him turn to look at her, to question this change, but movement on the bridge below caught his attention.

A small envoy approached the city at an easy lope. Even from this distance he could recognize the monstrous red wolf at its head and the two white equines flanking her. Each one of their steps sent a burst of colored light through the rainbow bridge. These were no outsiders of foreign worlds and ways. The Bifrost recognized the magic of its own ilk and Odin knew he would have to go down and meet them.

“Envoys of the Eikseidr?” his wife ventured, though he would have laid a good bet that she knew the answer already. Even though she never told him, she usually did.

“Yes, it looks as if she's sent Freki herself.” And despite the heaviness in his heart, Odin was glad. It was a rare occasion that gave him chance to see his hunting companion of old.

His wife chuckled softly, turning to look at him with naked affection in her eyes. “You had best go down and meet them, then. Go on, I'll arrange for refreshments to be sent to welcome our guests.” Odin was reminded for just the flicker of an instant that he had been incredibly lucky in his choice of life companion, lifted her knuckles to his lips and disappeared back into the halls and passageways of their palace home.

 

*

 

It wasn't that Odin wasn't glad to see his ancient friend. He was. But there was more to this than anyone understood and knowledge of it sat ill within him. Seated on his rightful throne and with Gungnir in hand, he waited without expression. As far as his wife – or anyone in the Nine Realms – knew, the Eikseidr was just that, the very spirit of Yggdrasil that watched over and guided the dance of all the cosmos residing within her branches. She was the closest thing his people had to a deity, though there had been a time when she walked among them as something very different indeed.

Everyone in the realm of Asgard had known the Eikseidr before she was anything beyond a tiny, frail-looking girl, but of them all only Odin Allfather remembered.

He remembered and the knowledge made him incredibly sad.

“ _Knowledge often does.”_ Even now, even here, he could hear the voice of his youngest son with clarity. _“Sometimes it's for the good, mostly it's for the bad, but knowledge **always** changes things and change is hard.”_ The voice from his memory was just as wicked as it would be now, but there was an element of goodness, of playfulness behind the mischief that had once warmed his heart. That playful nature was gone now, perhaps forever, but he wasn't given time to follow that thought into the rabbit's warren. The large double doors at the other end of the hall were being flung open and Odin stood to go and meet his guests.

The red wolf was even more impressive up close. Easily half again the size of Sleipnir, she towered over him before dropping her forequarters in a low canine bow. Her companions to left and right – Odin could now see the opal horns that marked their kind where distance had hidden them earlier – tucked one front hoof back and lowered their own heads in greeting.

“Freki Sunclaw, envoy of the Eikseidr and first among hunters, ancient companion of my battle song, I welcome you to my hall,” he began, using the formal titles and address because they were not alone. “Hvitnason, Hvitnadottir,” he nodded to first the stallion and then the mare. “It has been too long since I have looked upon the fair forms of your people. Your ancestral sacrifice is always remembered. You also are welcome here as long as you would wish.”

_**Your manners haven't lost their polish, Allfather.**_ The paradoxical mixture of warmth and insubordination in those words could only come from the red wolf before him, her mouth open and tongue lolling to one side in a silent lupine laugh. **_We bring you the blessings of the Eikseidr and thank you most profusely for your gracious welcome. Gladly do we accept the hospitality of Asgard and her king._**

Freki always did her duty, Odin remembered, but she did it _her_ way and always managed to find loopholes in procedure and protocol to let her do so. The fact that his old friend was so little changed warmed him.

“Come, rest after your journey. There is food and drink a-plenty.” Odin turned to beckon forward the servants his wife had sent, but was halted short by his guest.

_**I'm sorry, Borrson,**_ Freki interrupted him wearily. He knew without asking that she had narrowed her 'voice' to his mind alone. **_We have tidings that cannot wait. Can we speak in private?_**

The unease that had tickled at the edges of his awareness upon seeing their coming took root in Odin and he lost no time in acceding to her request. Waving away the servants and courtiers that blocked his path, he led Freki and the Hvitnaborn away from the more public receiving hall and into his council room. The grand table was taken up with the odd glass coffin that held his sleeping son, but they could close the doors and speak here in peace.

Once the guards had been dismissed and the room shut tight behind them, Odin turned to Freki, only to see her twist her head around and pull something that had been hidden – most likely by some form of magic – in her fur. As she swung her head back to face him, he saw that within her jaws she held an impossible thing. If some master craftsman could have carved a tree's branch from the rainbows that made up the Bifrost, the result would be the treasure held so carefully in his friend's maw.

_**The Eikseidr desires conference with your son before he is woken.**_ Freki took three steps forward on silent paws, lowering her head to deposit the branch on the lid of the container with the utmost care. A flash of light startled Odin, but neither the branch nor his son had changed, so his alarm was at a minimum. **_When she has passed her judgment, we shall sit in council as we once did, old friend. You may wish to summon your wife and son. She does not ever take long._** Odin Allfather was not pleased with either the intrusion or the interference, but since there was nothing he could do, he maintained a perfectly impassive expression and only nodded his acceptance.

Now, they would simply have to wait.

 

*

 

Very early in his life, Loki Odinson had learned the value of being able to live inside his own head. Aside from the obvious benefit of good conversation, it allowed him to place a barrier between himself and everything else around him. Distance from the world meant that nothing that happened out there could touch him if he chose not to let it.

He _always_ chose not to let it.

Another side-benefit, however, was that the inside of his mind was not only well-organized, but almost … warm. It was comfortable in an oddly domestic way. Loki Laufeyson may have learned that there was nowhere else in the universe he would be allowed to feel at home, but here in his own mind, he had all the comfort he could wish.

Contrary to the belief of those around him, he was not, in fact, asleep. Oh, he was unconscious certainly enough, but not asleep. He didn't mind. There was enough here to entertain him for a very, very long time. It was finally _quiet_ , and he felt that for the first time in too long, he would have a small slice of peace before the next storm broke.

He was only partially wrong.

“Do not be afraid; our fate cannot be taken from us; it is a gift.” That was definitely _not_ his voice. For one, it was female – even in his own _seidr_ , Loki knew his voice had never sounded like that. Sharp eyes of silver-green lifted from the text he'd been reading to latch onto the source of that new voice.

She was short, bony and pale. She had hawkish features that had a kind of icy beauty to them for all their sharpness. Her hair was brown like ash wood and fell in soft curls around her face. She wore the fashion of his mother's people – a thin gown shaped by the silver corset around her middle and the silver bands around her arms. She wore a matching silver torc around her neck that looked vaguely familiar – a serpent reaching to devour his own tail. She stood nearby, holding a copy of Dante's _Inferno_ open in one hand. All of these things were true and all of them were puzzles in their own way, but what caught his attention and held it like a vice was her eyes.

It was as if someone had taken a pair of finest peridot gems, cut them to iris shape and then somehow, impossibly, enchanted them to glow with some inner light.

He _knew_ those eyes.

Loki had never seen this woman before in his life, of that he was more than certain. But somewhere, on a primal level that was as much a part of him as his blood and his bones, he _knew_ her.

“Eikseidr.” He felt a moment of smug triumph when she flinched. He could not even be deceived by his people's own goddess. Truly, he was the master of his craft. His glib reply, however, turned to ash in his mouth at the pain his words seemed to also inflict. All of a sudden he was no more than a child again, watching someone in pain because of him and full of the burning desire to know _why_ his existence brought so much suffering.

“If that is truly all you see, then so be it.” There was no warmth at all in her voice as there had been when she read from the book. There was a frozen tension that Loki was all too familiar with. For a moment, he toyed with the idea of pressing on it, following such an intriguing line of inquiry to discover the truth behind the puzzling creature before him. “It will, undoubtedly, make the rest of this easier, but I had hoped...” She trailed off there and Loki decided not to pursue it. If she wanted to cloak herself in ice and silence, he was certainly in no position to remark on it. At least she was a break from the tedium.

“So, has my _father_ ” – and didn't he just spit that word – “given into sentiment and cowardice? Passing my trial and sentencing up to a _higher power_?” he sneered, leaning back in his chair and regarding her with all the cool arrogance that two thousand years of royal life had given him. To his irritation, she only laughed.

“There you are.” She pushed her fingers together and snapped closed the book she still held. “I am glad to see you have not lost _all_ of your former fire.”

Loki grit his teeth and snarled. “Have care, my lady. You are in _my_ mind. This far from your precious trunk, it would be unwise to waken my full ire.”

Her lips curled into a smile he had no Asgardian phrase to describe. He was forced to dip into Midgard vernacular for an apt descriptor and that galled him all the more. Nevertheless, her expression was a perfect example of the Earth concept ' _Bring it on_ '. It was not an expression many of that race had dared to wear in _his_ presence – and for good reason – but he'd seen it enough to recognize the challenge.

Would he never have reached the point where he'd caused enough pain and suffering to be spared all these endless _challenges_? Folding his face into a blank mask, he decided to teach this creature a lesson – for challenging him and for presenting the infuriating mystery that she did. It was the work of no more than a thought to conjure shackles that would bind her wrists behind her back and chains whipping across her neck and hips that would pin her against the wall.

There was a pause where his uninvited guest merely stood there, his quiet captive. Just as Loki felt a superior smirk twisting his lips, however, she began to glow. The light very rapidly reached a point where his eyes could no longer stand it and he shut them, shielding his face with his arms. There was the sound of an explosion and the sick whine of metal grinding on metal. By the time the light faded and Loki was able to see again, they were no longer in his little library.

They stood on a surface made from the same material as the Bifrost bridge. All around them was darkness mixed with pockets of color and brilliance as all of existence spun around them. Loki had long been called the God of Chaos and had much love for that title, but the entropy on display here was enough to make even he feel weak and sick to his stomach.

The Eikseidr was now sufficiently dimmed that he could look upon her form again, but that did not mean she had lost her glow. Where he stood on the hard platform, she hovered over it, her gown and hair whipping gently in some ghostly breeze. Her eyes were orbs of glowing white and her breath made small clouds with each rise and fall of her chest.

_**Loki Odinson, get of Laufey and Farbauti, prince of Asgard, lord of Jotunheim, brother of Thor and invader of Earth. So many titles for one who is little more than a child.**_ The reproof stung and brought the bitter taste of bile to the back of his tongue, but there was no arguing with the power in her voice. First and foremost, Loki was a survivor. He did not answer back.

_**You are also called Liesmith and Silvertongue. Though these are less... official titles they are perhaps more accurate a description. Even your body lies, though you did not will it to do so. Behold, Loki Odinson, the price of the abyss into which you willingly fell.** _

Something hit Loki hard in the back and he stumbled forward to fall onto his hands and knees. There, reflected in the surface of the Bifrost substance on which they stood, was a monster.

It was not blue-skinned, red-eyed and marked like the Jotun form he hid so well. It was him, the shape that had been his for as long as he could remember. Where before was all the beauty of Asgard, he now saw broken ruin. There were dark circles under his eyes, so deep it almost appeared as though he'd earned them by a beating. His skin was waxy and sallow, tinted a sickly yellow-green and stretched thin over hollow cheeks and sunken eyes. His lips were split and slowly oozing blood and pus. His hair hung lank to either side of him. His eyes themselves were bloodshot and lifeless, no spark of any emotion contained in them. The whole image made him sick with fear and hatred – both for himself and for this enchantress who made him look.

“You lie!” he screamed into the darkness. “What could you possibly hope to gain by showing me such falsehoods?”

_**Nothing, Odinson. I show you no lie. If you pause and think for but a moment, you would recognize the truth in what I say.** _

“What did this to me?” When she was silent, he lifted his head and fairly screamed at her. “Tell me!” When she finally answered him, there was a rumble of venom and danger in her otherworldly voice that left a sliver of fear worming its way up his spine.

_**Thanos did this.** _

Consumed by hatred and despair, Loki pounded his fists against the reflection and turned his face away so that he would no longer have to see it. “Our stories always painted you as a benevolent mother and provider, but you show a keen interest in magnifying my pain.” The words were choked out violently, his voice ragged.

_**Loki...**_ There was something pitying in her voice that made his stomach clench as if to be sick, but there was nothing left inside of it to expel. He did not want her pity. He didn't want anything from anyone, save to be left alone. He tried to say as much, to scream and rave at her so that she'd leave him be just like all the rest. He couldn't get the words out around the dry heaving that wracked his body.

Cool hands cupped his face and wiped his brow, lifting and turning him onto his side as if he weighed no more than a small child.

_**I knew a man very much like you, once.**_ Her voice was still alien and other. It still rolled around inside his head without her lips so much as twitching. This time, however, it was warm and soothing. Loki felt his head and shoulders relax against her lap in a way he had not done since he used to sit with Frigga this way as a boy. **_He had no family, had never had a family. He was brilliant and beautiful and no one ever saw any of it. He opened my eyes to wonders I had never even dreamed._**

“You loved him,” Loki supplied flatly, feeling limp and exhausted and utterly miserable. If it was hard not to wonder what his own path would have been like if he'd had such a gift as that kind of love, it was easy to squash all interest by reminding himself of the weaknesses that went with it. The pain this creature bore like the crown of a queen made it impossible to forget.

_**I did.**_ His estimation of this banshee woman rose just a little when she did not try to deny her love, didn't even hesitate. Then again, he mused ruefully, there wasn't much she had to fear from the likes of him.

“What happened?” he found himself asking before he could stop.

_**I cannot believe your father has not told this tale... But then, he always did want to protect his family from their destinies.**_ She sighed, but it was not without some affection. **_Foolish man._** Loki's estimation of the Eikseidr rose a little more again with her next words. _**If you'll allow me to heal the damage you saw, I'll tell you a secret none but the Allfather knows.**_

Loki considered this. He hated the idea of letting some stranger _see_ his weakness, let alone tend to it, but it wasn't as if he was in any shape to walk away. She could force the healing on him if she wished and he could do nothing about it. Agreeing would not only get him a win-win in the form of strength and a secret, but would keep him in the position of power between the two of them. At least in terms of perception.

“I accept your terms. What is this secret?”

_**The very first time I met your father, I punched him in the nose.** _

That...

Despite his better judgment and against all of his wishes, Loki found that he loved this insane creature for that – just a little bit.

_**Your mother said she had not laughed so hard in centuries.**_ There was mirth and fondness in her voice as well. It must have been a happy memory. **_But that was very long ago, in a very different life._** Or perhaps it was a painful one... Her voice was touched so much by both joy and sorrow that it was almost impossible for him to tell. That in and of itself was incredibly disorienting.

Loki felt some sort of energy seeping into his body from the point where her palms lay against his skin. It slowly filled him until for the first time in what felt like absolute ages, he took a deep, clear breath... and promptly fell asleep.

 

*

 

When Loki woke up, the first thing he noticed was that he was back in his 'library' construct. The second thing he noticed was that he was sprawled out on the floor in a veritable nest of pillows and blankets. The third thing he noticed was that he was not alone. It was a mark of how much he had learned to ignore his own needs that it wasn't until processing those things that he realized how sick he truly must have been before, because right about now he felt _fantastic_.

“Did you sleep well?” Pushing himself up to sit so that he could lean his back against the nearby couch, Loki rubbed sleep from his face and turned to regard his companion.

“I... did, thank you.” The civility was awkward and stilted. It had been long out of use and he felt rather like a colt on shaky, spindly legs.

“It will take time for the damage to your mind and soul to heal, but you are at least free from Thanos' poison.”

Loki nodded to show he understood. He filled the silence with brooding for a while as he turned over the many pieces inside his thoughts. “Why did you do this?” he asked her finally, turning to search her face and posture for any clues.

“Because you have a job to do.” He should have known. At least she looked more like a normal person and less like a god, now. Loki had always been a fan of uneven exchanges, but being on the other end of them wasn't very fun.

Feeling oddly resigned, he took the bait. “What job is this, exactly?”

“You'll find out soon enough,” she answered breezily, not once looking up from the book on her lap. That brought a scowl to Loki's face, but he was interrupted again before his thoughts could go very far down their dark trail. “Oh, and sweetheart,” she began, her voice sickly saccharine to catch his attention.

“I have spent the last six months orchestrating the most complicated operation I've undertaken in centuries to give you this chance.” Her voice wasn't sweet any longer and there was something akin to danger in her impossibly green eyes. “Don't fuck this up.” She didn't add 'or else'. She didn't need to. Loki was many unfavorable things, he would admit, but he was _not_ stupid.

There was no doubt in his mind that the Eikseidr was capable of exacting a _very_ high price for failure.

 

 

 


	5. Judgment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I won't deny that you've got the right to pardon him for what he did in so much as what he did broke _your_ rules.” Jane tried to keep a sense of formality to what she said, since everything she'd seen so far had been almost ceremonial. She didn't know the steps, but she wasn't about to back down, either. “But what he did also broke _our_ rules, the rules on Earth – er, Midgard. And I'm sorry, but speaking as the only human in the room, I've got to say that we _don't_ forgive him.”

 

 

“Hello!”

Jane Foster felt … kind of dumb.

“Look, I know you're up there and you supposedly can hear me, so could you please open up already?”

Standing in the middle of the New Mexican desert, her toes on the edges of a burnt circular pattern that should have been completely blown away by now but wasn't, Jane shielded her eyes with her hand and squinted toward the clear sky.

“Maybe that's the problem, Jane.” Erik's voice behind her was exasperated, but not unkind. “It's broad daylight and not a single cloud. Doesn't this thing usually come on at night?” Jane hazarded a glance over her shoulder to see her father's friend leaning back against the side of their van, but quickly returned to squinting hard at the afternoon sky for any trace of inter-dimensional disturbance.

“Look, SHIELD said the note wasn't all that clear, but he said today and I am _not_ missing this!”

 

*

 

So far away that it might be called another existence entirely, a massive soldier stood guard at his post, hands at rest on the hilt of his mighty blade. There was a faraway look to his impossibly golden eyes. He looked powerful and alien, his face an unchanging mask of emotionless calm.

And then he smiled.

 

*

 

“Jane, come now. We've been here hours with no sign,” Erik came up behind Jane and gently grasped her shoulders, trying to steer her back into the van. “You've not eaten a bite all day and it's going to get very cold once the sun goes down.” Jane turned to face west, noticing for the first time just how far past the horizon the sun had already gone. Yanking herself forward and out of Erik's well-meaning grasp, she took up her vigil once again.

“Erik, please. He's going to be here, alright?” She paused and wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the chill brought on by a stiff evening breeze. Half-expecting a new form of argument, Jane was surprised to feel the warm weight of Erik's coat settle around her shoulders. He rested an understanding hand on her shoulder and studied her face for a moment before nodding.

“I'll be in the van,” he told her quietly and then walked away to sit out of the wind. Jane watched him go and then lifted her gaze skyward again.

“Please don't be a dream.”

 

*

 

When Jane once again felt solid ground under her feet, she pitched forward and immediately lost her lunch.

Well, considering she hadn't eaten anything since breakfast yesterday, it was more accurate to say she lost her coffee. Either way, the experience was a most unpleasant one. What a way to make a first impression.

Thankfully, it was only the gatekeeper who stood watch and the prince of Asgard who knelt beside her that saw her moment of weakness.

“Sorry,” she managed with a rueful smile, wiping her mouth against her sleeve. “There's a reason I never let Darcy talk me into those 'company trip' packages to Universal.” Thor helped her up and pulled her close, despite her vomit-breath, and hugged her tight. When finally he pulled away, he was smiling at her with the expression Jane had labeled 'I have no idea what you are talking about, but I am incredibly glad to see you'. It made nice, warm things happen to the inside of her stomach. She would have kissed him if she was just a little bit more selfish.

When he took the choice out of her hands and kissed her anyway, she reasoned that battle had probably sprayed worse flavors than 'coffee vomit' into his mouth and decided to simply enjoy it while it lasted.

In the end, that didn't happen to be very long.

“My prince,” a new voice interrupted their reunion, causing Thor no concern but making Jane leap back like a startled teenager. “I beg your forgiveness, but your father has requested the presence of you and your lady in the council chambers.” Jane looked between the guard and Thor, who appeared more puzzled than concerned.

“But I had thought today was to be one of private introductions and rest. Has something gone wrong?”

The guard made an uncomfortable face that Jane had seen Darcy make once or twice. It was the 'this is _so_ above my paygrade' look. Nevertheless, he answered dutifully. “That I cannot say, Highness. They have been closed in council since the envoy of the Eikseidr arrived at sundown.” Jane doubted Darcy would have been so polite. Thor nodded sharply and the guard took that as his dismissal.

“Jane, I am sorry, but my father knows of your coming and he would not make this request if it was not important.”

“Yeah, no, obviously, of course.” Jane waved it off with a grin and was rewarded by the brilliant smile that never failed to make her breathless. “How do we get, um, there?” Thor's smile shifted into a more playful grin and he wrapped an arm around her middle to hold her tight against his side.

“Just like this.”

Jane knew where this was going. She couldn't help but return a thrilled-but-still-nervous grin as she wrapped both her arms around him and held on _tight_. It only occurred to her after he'd lifted Mjolnir and sent them both barreling off into the night that she probably should apologize to the gatekeeper about puking on his floor.

There was no way to do it now, she reasoned. She'd find a way later, once whatever crisis she and Thor were flying into had been handled.

 

*

 

Asgard had to be the most beautiful place Jane had ever seen. Full of gold and color and wonder, even by night she had been rendered speechless by it all. They landed in a courtyard. Thor took her hand with another school-boy smile and led her through a maze of rooms and halls more grand than anyplace she'd ever been in her life. It was cute, she thought, how he kept looking back over his shoulder to smile at her like he was half afraid she wasn't real and was overjoyed every time she was still there.

When they finally stopped, they were in front of a massive set of double doors, intricately-carved with what Jane could have sworn were half-naked women riding... swans. Thor lifted one fist and pounded twice on the wood of the door. One side was opened and her... boyfriend, she guessed, ushered her in before closing the door behind them.

Whatever Jane had expected to be on the other side of the door, it certainly wasn't this.

The room was everything a king's council chamber should be. Ornate tapestries covered walls that arched gracefully upwards to a peak in the center of the ceiling above. The floor was some sort of smoky cream marble veined in gold. There were only two ways in – one that she and Thor had taken and one on the other end of the room. Both were shut and barred.

The first thing she noticed was the _absolutely enormous_ red and white husky-looking thing curled up on the floor to her right, then the two unicorns – yes, she did rub her eyes and look again, they _were_ unicorns – standing on either side of the (dog? wolf?) caught her eye. An old man with one eye covered in a golden patch stood to her left. On his arm was the most beautiful woman Jane had ever seen. The small part of her brain that was still able to be rational while inundated with fairytale splendor pointed out that they must be Odin and Frigga, Thor's parents. Jane offered them both a shy smile and a hesitant, stilted sort of bow because she just didn't know how else she was _supposed_ to greet them. She and Thor hadn't exactly had time for a quick course in Asgardian etiquette beforehand. Frigga smiled at her with such warmth that Jane instantly felt a little bit better about the world in general. Odin only nodded, but he seemed... distracted.

The moment Jane shifted her eyes to the council table in the center of the room, she understood why. She also knew why this meeting had been so important. Thor had turned to hug his mother and Jane placed a gentle hand on his back to get his attention. When he turned to look at her, not even the obvious affection in his smile could shake the feeling of dread slowly pooling in her gut. She could only nod in the direction of the table – or more accurately, what was _on_ the table.

The table itself was beautiful, masterfully carved and just as grand as the room in which it sat. A chair at the end farthest from them was larger than the others and looked to be carved out of pure gold. No, it wasn't the table at all that gave Jane such cause to worry. It was the stasis pod that rested on it and the person it contained.

Jane had never met Loki in person, but she had seen plenty of coverage with his face. On a global scale, he had invaded Earth with an army, intending to conquer and enslave them all. Jane knew that and knew in a purely intellectual way just how _bad_ that was, why she should hate him for it and maybe she would hate him for it under different circumstances. She only felt sick and guilty because it wasn't his invasion that made her hate him. It wasn't the footage of his New York City slaughter that sent chills down her spine. It was the memory of the Destroyer marching on Puente Antiguo, watching it destroy the place that had been her home and killing people she'd said hello to that very morning. It was the sight of Thor being backhanded across the street to lay dying in rubble that played behind her eyes and it was for _that_ reason that Jane Foster hated Loki... and hated herself a little for being so self-centered. Dimly, she was aware of some kind of argument going on between Thor and his father, but she wasn't paying it any attention.

“There's no need to feel guilty, child.” A voice that was neither Thor's nor either of his parents' broke into Jane's concentration. It must have broken into the argument, too, because now the room was silent. Looking up from her study of Loki's face, Jane turned to the source of the new voice and blinked.

A thin woman with hawkish features and a pair of stylishly large sunglasses lounged in the king's council chair like she belonged there. Knees hooked casually over one arm and her back braced against the other, the brunette looked pale and almost insubstantial. Jane had the impossible thought that she could probably scatter her like a dandelion with just one breath.

“Feel guilty about what, exactly?” She hadn't been intimidated by the government goons stealing her life's work and she wasn't about to be intimidated by this woman, either. Conveniently ignoring the fact that just meeting Odin and Frigga had a moment ago made her incredibly nervous, Jane Foster folded her arms over her chest and lifted her chin defiantly.

The woman in the king's chair merely laughed, seemingly very pleased at Jane's reaction. “About being more angry at a personal wrong than a global one. It's human nature to be most moved by what is most intimate.” That made Jane's eyes widen and her heartbeat jump up about three notches.

“How could you possibly-”

“Jane,” Thor interrupted her gently, stepping up to stand by her side and take her hand in a show of solidarity. “This is the Eikseidr.” When she turned to look at him with a puzzled expression, he seemed to realize that of course the name meant nothing to her. “Do you remember Yggdrasil? The Worlds Tree I drew for you?” Jane nodded silently. “The Eikseidr is the heart of Yggdrasil. She tends to the worlds that grow within its branches.” That was enough to make her take a step back, one hand raised between her and Thor to keep him silent for a minute while she processed all of this.

“So this...” she risked a glance at the woman in Odin's chair, who was resting her chin in one hand and watching them all like this was the latest episode of Lost. “She's like, your god?” Thor beamed at her, obviously relieved that she understood, even though she felt like she didn't; not really.

“If you want to get technical,” the Eikseidr interrupted with a smile that reminded Jane too much of Tony Stark for comfort, “I'm your god, too.” Jane reeled back, something intrinsic to her instinctive self recoiling at that concept. “Don't worry,” the deity added with a smirk. “If I wanted to get involved in the lives of mortals, you'd have heard of me before now. Your world isn't ready to accept the truth of the universe yet. Half your people would reject me on the basis of gender alone.”

And Jane, who had always been proud of her empirical mind and lack of any religious conviction, was ashamed to realize that was true. Even she could not escape the teachings of childhood – all of which painted their god as a moral-driven male – and neither would generations of others. She could, however, poke holes in one part of the story and she felt no qualms in doing so.

“But I _have_ heard of you.” She watched carefully for any warning signs of anger or concern, but the Eikseidr just sat there and smiled.

“Oh?”

“You're the strange woman SHIELD has been scrambling to identify, aren't you? The one who visited Stark and Rogers.” That smile only grew. “Stark _still_ doesn't know how you got past his security protocols.” Jane paused then, confused on one point. “But why did you introduce yourself as Dr Eir? They both know about Asgard and the tree – and at least Stark is open-minded enough to not flip about about the god thing right away.” This time the Eikseidr didn't seem inclined to satisfy her curiosity, but a quiet voice behind her broke the silence before it became too oppressive.

“She was telling them something, Doctor Foster.” Jane spun around to face the man she had guessed to be Odin. He looked tired, but there was a spark of life in the very parental look of reproach he shot toward the Eikseidr. “Eir was once a lady among our court. The goddess of healing and...” he looked briefly at his wife, whose face was turned so that Jane could not see her. “...our friend.”

“Now now, Borrson,” the Eikseidr chided warningly as she rose from her seat. “Remember the rules.” Jane blinked. Was it her imagination or had the King of the Gods just winced? “I have put these pieces into place with too much care to let it be ruined now. The Darkness _is_ coming, Allfather. There is little enough time to prepare and no time at all to waste.”

Jane jumped as she felt warm, soft fur brush past her arm. She pressed close against Thor's side when she saw that it had been the giant wolf who'd brushed past her. Watching with wide eyes – Jane never had been exactly what one would call an 'animal person' – she saw the wolf lower its head and get hugged tightly by the goddess.

“Yes, I did, didn't I?” For the first time, Jane heard real warmth in the Eikseidr's voice as she reached up to rub behind the wolf's ear. “Thank you for reminding me, Amma. I'd be lost without you.”

Leaning closer to Thor, Jane stood on tiptoe and whispered into his ear, “Did I miss something?” but before she could get an answer, the Eikseidr had released the wolf and walked over to stand in front of Odin.

“Odin Borrson, Allfather of the First Plane, King of Asgard and Vanaheim, as Eikseidr I claim my right to pass judgment for crimes committed against three of my worlds. Do you challenge my right to do so?” There was something heavy and ceremonial here that Jane didn't quite understand. She was silent, but watched the proceedings with no small amount of interest.

“I do not challenge, Eikseidr. The crimes of which my son is accused span the scope not only of my realm but of two others in which I have no rights of justice. Your endless work shields us all from the outer darkness. Your realm encompasses all jurisdiction of his trespass. I cede Rite of Judgment to you.”

“And will you abide by that judgment and accept that its wisdom may be beyond your immediate grasp? Will you enforce my ruling as a sovereign lord of my celestial court?”

“I will.” To Jane's surprise, Odin handed over the great golden spear. “To you I return Gungnir, as is only right for a judgment made of an Aesir prince on Asgard soil.” The Eikseidr accepted the spear with a gravity and dignity Jane hadn't really expected from the SHIELD reports of her encounters with the others. As soon as the woman's fingers touched the weapon, there was a burst of blinding light. Jane had to shield her eyes, but she could have sworn she heard Odin utter one final whisper. “I will always do my duty.”

When Jane could see again, the first thing to draw her attention was that they were no longer in the council room. This room was much larger – by about a magnitude of three, at least – and was unmistakably a throne room meant for grand ceremony. Looking down, she saw that she wore a gown in a similar style to the one she'd seen Frigga in only a moment ago, save that hers was a deep scarlet belted with silver. There was an unfamiliar weight on her brow and Jane lifted shaking fingers to touch what felt like some sort of circlet. She turned to Thor only to see him decked out in similar finery over silver armor so polished it sparkled. He wore a circlet on his own brow and when he beamed at her, looking her over appreciatively and then took her hand, Jane tried very hard not to think about the implications of … well, any of it.

The centerpiece of the room was undoubtedly the massive golden throne. Jane half expected to see Odin sitting on it, but instead he stood to one side in all his finery, while his queen stood on the other. Seated between them was the Eikseidr, clad in a black gown shaped by a silver corset and armbands. Her hair was loose, falling in ash-colored curls down her back. An elaborate diadem of silver and diamonds covered her head and brow, trailing down over her hair so that every motion made her sparkle like starlight. The sunglasses were long gone, revealing eyes an incredible shade of sparkling peridot that Jane had never seen before. She held Gungnir in one hand – which looked funny because Jane was pretty sure it had been gold a minute ago – and looked down the dais steps with a cold and merciless expression. Jane followed her gaze and gasped.

From her vantage point – she and Thor stood on the step just below Frigga – she could easily see that the hall was completely empty except for the group that had been in the council chambers, plus one notable addition.

Down on the floor below even the first step up the dais, flanked on either side by the unicorns and from behind by the enormous red wolf, was Loki.

He was not dressed as they were. He was allowed only the dignity of worn black pants and a dirty green shirt of some kind. Given the fashion that Thor was fond of sporting and the sheer shapelessness of the thing, Jane guessed it was probably meant to be worn with a belt. Stranger she might be, but even she did not miss the significance here. For a prince of Asgard, this was the equivalent of being dressed in rags.

His hands were bound behind his back and his mouth was covered in some weird-looking metal gag. His hair was tangled and fell on either side of his face. He was the opposite of everything he had once been or ever wanted to be, but even brought so low, _kneeling_ before the throne, his father, his brother and a 'lowly mortal' he still managed to look... proud.

Jane was reminded forcibly of the summer she'd spent studying aurora patterns in Alaska. There had been a wild dog stealing food from their supplies for weeks. It had gotten so bad they'd caved and hired a local as night guard. Jane had been sitting up making notes the night their local guard finally caught it. She had watched as he leveled his rifle in its face, watched the dog slowly lower the mouthful of lunchmeat to the ground and then lift its head to stare its death straight in the eye.

Whether or not some simple animal had the sense to understand its own death was debatable, but Jane saw the same look of fierce independence and noble resignation on Loki's face. Against her every wish, she felt a pang of compassion.

“Loki Odinson, you are accused of a great host of crimes spanning three of the worlds under my protection.” Jane's attention was drawn back to the present by the sound of the Eikseidr addressing the fallen prince, whose metal gag had vanished. “Because of this, I exercise my right to judge you here and now as a child of Yggdrasil. If you reject this right, you will be remanded to each world in turn and will face separate justice at the hands of each.” This shocked Jane. A trial on Earth was complicated enough, but trying to sort out the mess of legality between three very different worlds would be a nightmare of red tape. Loki could spend _centuries_ waiting for judgment – and given his past, she was certain he was capable of wreaking an unholy amount of havoc in the mean time. She couldn't understand why this woman would give him that chance or why the rest of them seemed content to let her.

“I do not deny your right to pass judgment.”

Well then.

Before she had the chance to try and wrap her head around the fact that he'd just turned down a golden opportunity, Jane's thoughts were cut off by the Eikseidr once again.

“You allowed Frost Giants into Asgard, resulting in the deaths of two honored guardsmen. You disobeyed a direct order and followed your brother into Jotunheim despite being one of the few who could have swayed him to a wiser course. These crimes are treason against your King. Do you deny them?”

“I do not.”

“During your reign as Asgard's king, you attacked one of this realm's most loyal servants and protectors. You sent a weapon of the realm to pursue and destroy those who had disobeyed your command and would bring your brother home. You turned the full power of the Bifrost on Jotunheim in an attempt to destroy that world. Were it not for the actions of your brother, you would have committed genocide. These crimes are treason against Asgard herself. Do you deny them?”

“I do not.”

“You conspired with Laufey for the murder of your father. You attempted the murder of your brother. Your scheming nearly killed your mother.” There was no way Jane could miss his wince, or the fact that it came only at the mention of his mother's danger and not that of his father or brother. “These crimes are treason against your family. Do you deny them?” This time he hesitated. It was just for a moment, but it was enough.

“ _I_ deny them.” Thor's voice rang out clear and strong in the empty hall. He squeezed her hand and stepped forward with his head held high. Jane was no expert in people, especially complicated Aesir royal families, but it did _not_ look like Loki was pleased at his interference. She watched him open his mouth, doubtless to send some barb flying in his brother's direction, when another voice caused it to snap shut.

“As do I.” Frigga moved to stand beside Thor, looking every inch the noble queen.

The Eikseidr kept her expression neutral, but if Jane didn't know any better, she'd say there was something... pleased in her eyes. “On what basis do you deny these charges, Thor Odinson and Frigga Fjörgynnsdottir, Crown Prince and Queen of Asgard and the Aesir?”

“On the basis that he is my brother!” Thor roared. Jane felt her heart break as she watched him try to defend the man who tried to kill him because he loved him too much to believe it was true. “He has done wrong, I know, but we are his family. He loves us. He would never stoop to such things.” As valiant and staunch as Thor's defense of his brother was, Jane was grateful that Frigga had something more of sense to offer.

“I saw him slay Laufey with my own eyes, my lady. In defense of his sleeping father.”

Jane watched the Eikseidr consider this new testimony. “You are defended by the very people your actions most harmed, Loki. What say you?”

“I conspired with Laufey as a ploy to lure him to his death. Without him, the Jotuns would spend the next hundred years fighting for the throne. By the time they were reorganized, the war my brother started would be long forgotten.” Jane would have been impressed by his control, but she wasn't entirely sure he had any emotions to control in the first place. He looked down. “My mother's presence was... an oversight.” Raising his head again, he looked up into the face of the Eikseidr and Jane was shocked to see almost a pleading earnestness in his face. “I could never cause her harm.”

The Eikseidr in all her glory took a moment for thought.

“What say you, Borrson?” Thor and Frigga looked to Odin, but Jane lowered her gaze to watch Loki once more

“He speaks the truth in both respects. There is wisdom in what he planned, if not honor. Had he been content to stop there, Asgard would have pronounced him a hero.” If she hadn't been watching, Jane would have missed the flash of surprise and pain that crossed Loki's face, so quick were they gone. “As for his mother... He has always been closer to her than me. Even if he is innocent in nothing else, my son would never willingly harm her.”

“Very well. In view of the denial from the victims of your crimes, you are acquitted of the charge of treason against your family.”

Loki did not even nod.

“After your fall into the abyss, you were taken prisoner by the entity Thanos, tormented by his followers and poisoned by his magic.” Loki's expression never changed much, but Jane thought she could read a hint of confusion when the Eikseidr began with that piece of information. Jane couldn't help but agree. Being tortured and poisoned weren't exactly crimes she was aware of. She was pretty pissed at him for what he did do, sure, but that was bad enough without creating crimes out of things he couldn't help, surely. “You led his army in a conquest of Midgard. You murdered innocents and destroyed lives in pursuit of your goal. You agreed to give him the Tesseract, rightfully a treasure of Asgard, once you had control of that world. These crimes are treason against _me_ and the rightful peace of my branches... and of them I absolve you.”

“ _What?_ ” Jane found herself shouting before even realizing that she had. “You can't do that, you have no right!” Thor laid a hand on her arm and gently tried to pull her into his side, but Jane would not be silenced. She glanced down at Loki, who was giving her a look she couldn't read.

“What makes you say that, child?” The Eikseidr was addressing her directly, now. She did not seem angry or irritated or, really, anything more than calmly patient, but it was enough for Jane to realize that perhaps a little tact wouldn't hurt, since she was only a guest here.

“I won't deny that you've got the right to pardon him for what he did in so much as what he did broke _your_ rules.” Jane tried to keep a sense of formality to what she said, since everything she'd seen so far had been almost ceremonial. She didn't know the steps, but she wasn't about to back down, either. “But what he did also broke _our_ rules, the rules on Earth – er, Midgard. And I'm sorry, but speaking as the only human in the room, I've got to say that we _don't_ forgive him.”

The room was deathly silent until Jane's courage began to waver just a little bit.

“You don't understand, child.” The Eikseidr spoke calmly, kindly, but there was a calculating gleam in her eye that made Jane narrow her own in response. “I don't mean that he was poisoned in the way of your Earth toxins. I pulled the magic from him myself. It was a spell that affected the mind, impaired the judgment and clouded the senses.” Those peridot eyes narrowed. “Or did you really think such a brutal, inelegant strategy as that invasion was the sort of thing designed by the mind that outwitted Laufey?”

_That_ gave Jane pause – as well as apparently the rest of the room. Still, while Thor and his family began to look doubtful and hopeful all at once, Jane was not so easily swayed. Loki's crimes hadn't _started_ with the poisonous magic, after all, they had merely intensified.

“We have those poisons too, you know. They're called drugs or maybe alcohol. My older sister took some sleeping pills and passed out on the couch while her two year old son watched a movie. While she was sleeping, he wandered outside, fell in their pool and drowned.” She heard a gasp from her right that sounded like it might have come from Frigga, but she didn't dare look away from the Eikseidr just yet. “My best friend in high school got drunk one night and ran a red light. She killed three people and cost a fourth the use of his legs forever. If they had been in their right minds, neither one of them would have done what they did, but they chose to take the drugs and the booze; it was still their actions that led up to the tragedies. That's why our justice system has degrees of guilt.” Still, silence. “Look, I'm sorry he got beat up and drugged by this Thanos guy, but even so, he's guilty of a thousand counts of manslaughter at _least_.”

The Eikseidr considered this. “Loki Odinson, did you choose Thanos' poison?” Jane whipped her head around to stare at the oddly silent prince. He did not immediately answer.

“No,” he finally replied. Jane felt her temper rising. “But I did choose to fall.” Deflated by an admission she didn't really understand, Jane turned to Thor, who pulled her back to stand at his side.

“I will explain later,” he murmured in her ear, then straightened to witness the final judgment of the Eikseidr.

“Loki Odinson, you are guilty of crimes against your king, your home and-” she paused here to flick the tiniest smile at Jane “-against the humans of Midgard. You do not deny your guilt. Will you accept my judgment?” That confused Jane even more. What choice did he have?

“I will.”

_You know_ , she thought, staring down at Loki. _It'd be a lot easier to empathize with you if you'd even **try** to look like you're sorry_.

The Eikseidr stamped the butt of Gungnir on the marble floor three times and stood.

“Loki of Asgard, your deeds are those of a spoiled child who has not yet learned that actions – _all_ actions – have consequences. Your life has sheltered you from this harsh truth and that path has led you to the brink of ruin. It is therefore my decree that your penance be threefold. To repay Asgard, I strip you of all your power, your titles and your strength.” Gungnir smacked the ground hard and a white light poured out of Loki's open mouth into the spear's tip, leaving him collapsed on his side, still bound and gasping for air.

“To repay Midgard I decree that your exile shall be spent in service to that realm, among the people you tried to conquer without understanding.”

The goddess of Yggdrasil then smiled, the butt of her great silver spear hitting the ground a second time.

“And to repay the king, your father, I decree that the terms of your banishment shall be conditional.” A final time, the spear struck the floor and Jane blinked twice. “A family should be hale and whole, Odinson, and a punishment should always teach a lesson. If you are able to learn yours, I will consider your debt repaid and you may return to your home and your family.”

Gritting his teeth, Loki rolled to his back and then lifted his torso until he sat upright again. If it had been anyone else, Jane would have been impressed with the core strength required to do that with both hands bound behind his back. As it was, she was not in a state of mind to think anything nice about her boyfriend's brother at present.

“What lesson is this?” he demanded warily. The Eikseidr laughed.

“I'd be spoiling half the fun if I told you, and that I just won't do.”

That was all well and good, but Jane felt bound to point out one last flaw in this whole shebang.

“Look, I'm sorry to interrupt you again, but um, only human in the room.” All eyes turned to her again and Jane swallowed thickly. “That's nice and all, but you can't just turn him loose on Earth. If he doesn't go ballistic and kill everyone, there's a good chance they'll kill _him_. His face was absolutely everywhere after the invasion.”

“I had no intention of simply 'turning him loose' as the Allfather did Thor, but you raise a good point.” She lifted Gungnir again and pointed it toward Loki. This time Jane didn't really notice much of a change. His hair was shorter and fell over his brow now, not black but some indiscriminate shade of brown. His skin was a couple shades less pale than before and maybe his eyes were a little bluer, but Jane was still skeptical.

“All right, so assuming that holds up and nobody recognizes him,” she continued, not even bothering to hide the fact that she clearly still saw 'Loki' when she looked at him. “How do you plan to keep an eye on him? It's not like – oh.” Jane's face went slack as the pieces suddenly fell into place. “That's what you were doing with Stark and Rogers, wasn't it?” The figure standing in front of the throne fairly _beamed_ down at her.

“SHIELD has agreed to take custody, yes. He and his handler will be assisting in the reconstruction and rescue efforts undertaken by one of the aid organizations under SHIELD control.” That was interesting. Even Jane had to admire the poetic justice of working to clean up your own mess. Even so, she still had to ask.

“Who got assigned as his handler?” Because she was _seriously_ overdue for a vacation with her boyfriend and this was starting to sound like it would shape up to be Thor watching over his brother. Which, of course, her noble lover would dutifully agree to and she couldn't let him do it all by himself _so_ her much-needed holiday was already vanishing right before her eyes. Because the notion of _It's not the place, it's who you're with that makes the time special_ didn't hold up so well when sociopathic baby brother was tagging along.

“Do not worry so, Jane Foster.” Jane was jerked out of her spiraling thoughts to blink up at a tree goddess giving her a knowing smile. “That task has been assigned to the best possible candidate. A good friend of yours I believe, by the name of Darcy Lewis.”

Wait. What?

“Darcy?” she managed to squeak out past her surprise. There were a thousand things she wanted to say, _should_ say, because of everyone Jane knew, Darcy Lewis was perhaps the _last_ person she'd assign to babysit anything, let alone an insane demigod capable of world domination. In the end, however, all she could manage was one word as she felt the total … alien-ness of the day catch up to her in the greyness around the edges of her vision. “Why?”

The last thing she remembered, before darkness and strong arms caught her, was the voice of the Eikseidr sounding _very_ amused.

“Chemistry, my dear. Simple chemistry.”

 

 

 


	6. Seven Seconds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know,” the man ground out against the table. “If you'd done that in leather, I'd have paid you for it.”
> 
> Holy shit. She'd just man-handled Tony fucking Stark. She released him immediately and took a step back, noticing with no small amount of pride that the British prep-school punk no longer looked so superior. “You couldn't afford what I'd charge for that, Tony. God, why'd you have to sneak up on me like that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all I would like to say that writing the last chapter, I thought writing Jane was the hardest thing I've ever done. Writing this chapter, I'm going to have to strike that and say that trying to write this much Natasha was harder. (With Jane, I know her character well enough to say safely that in most everything, if I would do it, she wouldn't. With Natasha, there's not so much background so... I had to really figure out who she was.)
> 
> Second of all, I'm already anticipating complaints that Darcy is OOC. Please bear in mind that while there are Darcy-traits which have become fanon, there's incredibly little actually set in stone as canon. I'm taking license with this. (Also it's AU in a super-twisted way that'll get explained later, so yeah.)
> 
> Thirdly and lastly, I am going to be removing this fic from the marvelverse challenge collection. It's still a gift work and will be labeled as a gift for the original prompter, but while everything is set to Anonymous it doesn't show up in my dash, which means I have to go hunting every time I need to do something with it. My removing it is not intended as disrespect for the prompter or the collection. It's just a sanity-preserving measure.
> 
> As always, I'm so thrilled you guys are taking the time to read this and I love to hear back from all of you. <3

 

 

Monday morning saw Darcy Lewis completely recovered from her hangover and – if not _chipper_ about a day full of filing reports, making spreadsheets and organizing Jane's brilliant-but-scattered data into something readable by anyone under a PhD – she at least looked like she was ready to tackle it. She even got an extra huge coffee on her way in, because despite her best efforts the remark from Crazy Elevator Lady about it being good that she wasn't supposed to go in to work on Saturday had her _convinced_ that somewhere, somehow, shit had hit the fan.

So when she got to Jane's lab and began unloading and organizing, she wasn't as surprised as she wished she was to find the sticky note smack in the middle of her monitor.

_Meeting with Coulson as soon as you get in. Run, girl!_

It looked like it had been written by Hannah, one of the other desk jockeys on this level who Darcy had occasionally had lunch or coffee with. Dropping the rest of her stuff in her chair to organize later, she grabbed her coffee and high-tailed it. Hannah's boss kept notoriously odd hours, so that note could have been there five minutes or twelve hours. Normally, Darcy wasn't really one to freak out about exacting punctuality, but the 'run girl' bit was a code used by the desk jockeys for anything having to do with Fury. He scared the piss out of _everyone_ and they all did their best to simply keep themselves – and each other – out of his way.

Dodging the mail guys and their cart that was far too big for the hallways they pushed it through, Darcy jogged the last few steps to catch the elevator that was just starting to close. She managed to get her arm through and slipped inside as soon as the doors obligingly re-opened.

“No one should ever be in that much of a hurry this early on a Monday. I'm sure it's against the rules, somewhere.”

Of course, her weird elevator luck couldn't just end with the mysterious Dr Eir. Now she had to add Tony Stark to the list.

“Does it help if we label it as really late Sunday instead of really early Monday?”

Okay, so maybe this wasn't that bad. Darcy knew that the more nervous she got, the more mouthy she got. Nick Fury was _not_ a guy who looked like he'd be real understanding of that fact, but Tony never minded a bit of sharp-tongued banter. She could take it out on him and maybe survive this meeting in one piece.

“Possibly, but only if your weekend involved being body-slammed by a pony-sized metal wasp... thing. Mine did. How 'bout yours?” He was so nonchalant about it that Darcy snickered in spite of herself.

“Only of the metaphorical variety. Met a creepy chick in an elevator and saw you fly into town, then spent like twenty minutes trying to flag down a taxi. Seriously, man, if we're gonna party in the same circles, you've got to add me to the VIP list for emergency limo pickup.” The doors dinged open to the floor with Banner's lab and Stark stepped out into the hallway.

“Nice try, kid. You gotta _earn_ that merit badge.” Darcy stuck her tongue out at him as the doors closed again, but she hadn't really expected to get it that easily. It just never hurt to try.

 

*

 

Conference Room D was not, inherently, a scary room.

Darcy felt that she would know if it was. She spent an unholy amount of time here in meetings so boring she wanted to _claw her own face off_.

Phil Coulson was also not, inherently, a scary man.

Darcy was well aware of the fact that he could do some scary things, but she liked Coulson. He was as by-the-books as they came and one of the rare few real gentlemen left in the world. Not the hold doors and pull chairs kind. She'd always thought those were a cheap kind of gentleman that anyone could be if he put in enough effort – or at least fake when he needed to. No, Coulson was the kind of gentleman who really watched out for his people – not because he thought they were weak or couldn't handle things, but because wrapped up in his neurotic need for rules and order and neatness, he was just that kind of guy.

Plus he didn't mind when she'd mess with his neurotically ordered life on occasion. Darcy never knew if he'd figured out it was her way of trying to be nice back or if he secretly liked the excuse to re-organize his things.

Nick Fury, on the other hand, was one _inherently scary motherfucker_.

If anyone asked, that was totally the reason Darcy was going to give for the fact that while sitting in non-threatening Conference Room D with a very non-threatening Agent Coulson, she was nervous as hell.

What made it worse, though, and in her mind pushed it from nerve-wracking to truly-terrifying, was that of the two men in the room with her? Nick 'Motherfucking' Fury was the one who looked most uncomfortable.

At least, Darcy was pretty sure that was his uncomfortable face. It was really hard to tell with him to begin with and she didn't exactly hang out with him enough to have made a study of it.

The fact that Coulson was sitting next to him looking like nothing so much as the guy who just won first prize at the science fair was not making her feel any better about this meeting.

“Lewis, it has come to my attention that you put in an application three weeks ago to be considered for training as a field agent.” Or maybe more like the guy whose _kid_ just won the science fair. Huh. “Agent Coulson has given his approval, which means I got _your name_ … on top of a stack … on top of my desk.” God, it was so unfair that one person could sound bored and intimidating at the same time. Although if the look he shot at Coulson was any indication, that tone was more for his sake than hers.

Maybe it made her a coward, but Darcy couldn't help feeling a little bit glad about that.

“Yeah – I mean, yes sir. I did turn in the application when the memo went out. But I thought-”

“Yes, the first batch of new recruits were called up last week.” Fury gave her that _look –_ the one where he lowered his jaw so he could sort of look up at her like he was convinced she was stupid and daring her to prove him wrong.

“So... why now?” Okay, so maybe there was more attitude in her tone than was strictly healthy when dealing with her boss' boss and _the_ boss, but she felt like it was a fair question to ask. One thing she'd learned while filing all the paperwork for it – SHIELD never did _anything_ without an ulterior motive.

Okay, okay, they called them 'reasons' but Darcy wasn't entirely convinced. There were rumors of super-nukes, okay?

“We have reason to believe your unique... skillset,” she had to give Fury points for managing _not_ to look at her rack when he said that, not even a little, “is about to become quite valuable. We need to find out if someone with those skills can be made into a field agent.” He leaned forward and folded his arms on the table, fingers interlacing. The new angle made it really hard not to stare at the eye-patch. “You get to be the guinea pig. Whether this whole program goes ahead or ends up dead in the cradle all comes down to you.” He narrowed his eye and tilted his head to one side with a jerking motion, like he was deliberately baiting her. “You think you're up to this, Lewis?”

Darcy thought Coulson looked like he really wanted to jump in and say a whole bunch of 'yes's, but was _far_ too well-trained to do so. She wanted to put him out of his misery, but there were a few things she wanted to clarify first.

“Will it get me out from behind a desk?”

“Unquestionably.”

“Does it pay better?”

“Exponentially.”

“Will I get my taser back?” she finally challenged, irritated into a little boldness by all those adverbs.

“Lewis,” Fury sighed and slumped back in his chair with a hand to his temple. “ _If_ you make it through training and _if_ you pass muster, you'll be authorized to carry a _gun_.” He looked like he couldn't imagine why anyone would want to take a 'step back' and tote around a taser. “But yes, you'll get yours back.” She was surprised and a little bit unnerved. He must have seen the argument coming before she could even make it.

 

“Cool.”

“Now...” There were lines of tension in his face that Darcy _swore_ hadn't been there five minutes ago. “Do we have a deal?”

She thought about it for a minute, some tiny voice of reason reminding her that life behind a desk was safe and familiar and not the worst thing in the world. It was all quite confusing and a little intimidating when she had Director Fury staring at her like if she didn't answer in seven seconds or less he was going to burst a blood vessel. Interrupting her thoughts, however, was Coulson leaning forward on the conference table to grin at her conspiratorially.

“Agent Romanov has agreed to personally oversee your training.”

Damn that man for being the kind of person people just tell shit to. Damn him double for using her hero-worship against her.

“Done. When do we start?”

 

*

 

Training with the infamous Black Widow was not nearly as terrifying as Darcy had feared. Natasha Romanov seemed to understand that she was working with completely raw material and was nice enough not to hold her ignorance against her.

It was, however, easily four times as hard as she'd hoped.

Her days went something like this.

 

0500 – Wake up, run with Natasha

0700 – Shower, eat breakfast

0730 – Hand to hand combat training

1000 – Firearms 101

1200 – Lunch

1230 – Natasha's weird 'female centric' strength training

1400 – “Spy Games”

1700 – Shower and eat dinner

1800 – Blare iPod and attempt to memorize the SHIELD protocols for various situations

2000 – Pass the hell out

 

She actually didn't mind the run so much. The first day had been torture, but that night Natasha had seen her fiddling with her iPod and had snatched it away.

“Hey! God, it's like a SHIELD fetish or something, I swear. Can I have that back or are you going to hand me a check?”

“I get that, that's funny. Poor Coulson.” Natasha seemed amused, but she didn't look up from the screen, fingers moving over the controls so fast that Darcy got a little bit dizzy trying to watch. She also didn't hand it back. Darcy huffed, rocking back on her heels.

“When does he get to come back to active duty?” she asked, changing the subject and looking for an opening to steal her device back.

Natasha didn't fall for it. “Next month if the scar tissue keeps healing like it has been.”

Darcy made a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat and chewed on her lip. Her trainer still made her nervous and she was out of clever ideas.

“What are you-”

“Here.” Natasha interrupted her and offered her the iPod back.

“Er, thanks.” Darcy couldn't see any signs of obvious tampering. The display was even back to the pause screen on the song she'd been listening to.

“Don't mention it.”

Natasha had walked off without another word, but the next morning Darcy found a playlist called 'Running'. The music kept her pace _for_ her and from that point onward the daily run became a pretty cool way to wake up properly.

 

*

 

Breakfast always came with a healthy dose of super-dark, super-caffeinated, super-expensive coffee. It was Darcy's drug of choice, but this stuff made Starbucks look like juice boxes. Working for SHIELD as a field agent would be worth _anything_ if they kept her supplied with this stuff.

Honestly, she believed one-hundred percent that the super-java was the one and only reason she had survived hand-to-hand so far.

Two-and-a-half weeks in and she had finally gotten to the point where Natasha felt comfortable enough about her level of familiarity with the endless movement drills to let her _do_ anything with them. The first week had been nothing but repetitions of movement that made Darcy feel incredibly stupid and also kind of Karate Kid at the same time. The second week had been a repeat of the first, except there was the addition of a big bag o' sand in front of her. The first time she'd hit the damn thing, she'd squeaked and fallen backwards in shock at how much it _hurt_.

Not for the first time, she'd thanked every god she could think of – minus a few specific ones who'd proven less than divine – that it was Natasha putting her through boot camp and not, say, Stark.

Tony would have laughed his ass off and mocked her mercilessly for _weeks_ afterward. Natasha just smiled, shook her head and offered her a hand up.

“Bodies are even more solid than this,” she'd said calmly, standing behind Darcy and using a hand on her wrist to guide her through a slower version of the motion with a subtle correction to change the angle of impact. “You've got to use the right parts of your body or you'll hurt worse than your target.”

Darcy had been careful after that, starting slow and repeating at that pace until it felt less than alien to hit in the way that wouldn't hurt. She'd just started to get _comfortable_ with that when Natasha had announced that today was going to be against her.

“Did someone press fast-forward on my life?” Darcy grumbled, dropping into her pre-training stretches with the sigh of the much put-upon.

“Yes,” Natasha answered, completely deadpan. She bent into her own stretch. “Didn't you see Fury tape it down when you signed on?”

Darcy had learned through a delicate period of trial and error that Natasha Romanov had a wicked sense of humor and would tolerate much in the way of cheek, so long as Darcy did as she asked. Their relationship was an odd one, but she liked her tongue-in-cheek 'Jedi Master'. It helped that Natasha had promised to take her out for a girl's night of drinking if she survived.

Stretches done, Darcy stood up and watched as Natasha stalked around her. She was totally jealous of the way the woman moved, like every step was a dance she didn't have to think about to make beautiful. It reminded her of a cat and was pretty much everything Darcy wished she was and knew she wouldn't be.

“Ready?” There was something dangerous about Natasha's half smile that did nothing to make Darcy feel _any_ better about this.

“Not really, no. Are you sure this is a good idea?” she questioned, shifting her weight and bending her knees anyway. “Cause _I'm_ not sure this is a good idea and I – whoa! Hey now!” Natasha's arm had shot out and tapped her on the shoulder. Darcy knew the hit had been pulled severely – no doubt her collarbone would be broken now if it hadn't been – but it still hurt. She took a step back and narrowed her eyes in concentration, but the next strike took her by surprise too. So did the next four and Natasha's expression slowly darkened into something between confusion and frustration.

“What's wrong, _zaichik_?” she asked finally, eying Darcy as if she suspected her of hiding something behind her back. “You _know_ the blocks for these. I've seen you execute them hundreds of times.”

“Yeah, on a _sandbag_ ,” Darcy reminded her with a huff. “Totally different from you. I can't think about what you're doing and think about what I need to do fast enough to do it.” Natasha frowned, but dropped into position again.

“Take a deep breath and relax. You're making this harder than it needs to be.”

“I think this is just this hard on its own,” she grumbled back, but obeyed.

And promptly got knocked on her ass.

“Again,” Natasha ordered and Darcy dutifully got back on her feet.

Round and round and round they went. The motions changed with each repetition, but the end result was always the same. Darcy would start a motion too late to be effective or she'd panic, freeze up and do nothing at all. After about the nine-thousandth time she'd landed sprawled on the mat, she was fed up.

“Forget it!” she snapped, clenching her hands into fists and pressing them into her temples with frustration. “I'm not _ready_ for this!” Without another look at her teacher, Darcy stomped over to her water bottle.

Half a dozen gulps of cool water soothed her temper, but she didn't feel any better about her ninety minutes of failure. Her iPod suddenly appeared from the left side of her vision, gripped in Natasha's hand.

“I need to go get something. Plug in your earbuds and chill for a bit, we'll try again when I get back.” She wasn't too sure about this 'trying again' business, but a few moments of peace with her music sounded damn good to Darcy just then. She slipped both ear pieces in and flicked through her library. Something angry and heavy to match her fraying temper.

_Ooooh_ , she sighed to herself as the first dirty strains of Seether snaked into her head. _Perfect_.

Her head started banging to the driving rhythm and within three bars, she felt the rage in her gut transmute into a weird sort of liquid humming in her limbs. She needed to move. Spinning the volume higher, she tucked the device into her sports bra and took advantage of the rare solitude to let her body move as it willed.

It was liberating in a way to jump and spin and sway her hips, to _move_ without the motion having some ulterior motive or purpose. And if she jumped on the mat a couple times extra hard, it was just payback for all the time she'd spent falling on it.

Just as the guitar solo reached its peak, there was a flash of motion in the corner of her right eye. Caught up in the heat and drive of her music, it didn't even occur to her to think. Her arm shot out like lightning, blocking the hit and giving her a chance to face a madly grinning Natasha Romanov before the next blow came.

It turned out, as Darcy ducked and blocked and even struck out a blow of her own a time or two, that once it had a way to bypass her overcrowded brain, her body actually _did_ know what it was doing. She was beginning to work up a sweat and her opponent wasn't even trying, but it still felt _damn good_ to move like this. When her album ended, however, she had to hold up a hand and brace her palms on her knees to catch her breath.

Natasha allowed the pause and Darcy pulled the earbuds from her ears just in time to have her a towel impact with her face. She picked it up off the ground and scrubbed her face and arms with the soft fabric, watching a very smug Natasha strut out the door.

“Told you, _zaichik,_ all you had to do was relax.”

 

*

 

Darcy's favorite part of the day was, without a doubt, the two hours out of each morning she got to play with weapons. She had to call it 'weapons' because they'd left guns behind in the first week. Natasha was a very big believer in the idea that, while everyone should have _their_ gun that felt as much a part of them as a limb, they should also have at least a passing familiarity with _anything that could be used to hurt people_.

This was the part of the day where Darcy had been allowed to play with swords, knives, hatchets, pipes, machetes, fire-extinguishers, rocket-launchers, a titanium tea kettle and now a _motherfucking tank_.

“This is so cool!” she screamed to Natasha over the deafening roar of the engine. They were only in one of the R&D bunkers and it was only – as she'd dubbed it – a 'baby tank', but it was still quite possibly the best day of her entire life.

When she accidentally backed up over Tony's latest attempt to turn a Ferrari into a Bondmobile, it wasn't quite so great. He would _so_ kill her for that later.

But... God, she'd driven a _tank_!

 

*

 

Darcy Lewis never felt so awkward as during the 90 minutes every day where Natasha put her through a series of core and strength training. That didn't _sound_ bad, but as Darcy learned very quickly, these exercises were designed specifically for the muscles that would benefit her woman's body the most. Natasha taught her to fight in a way that worked with her body instead of trying to force it into a style that relied on a more masculine bone-structure and muscle-types and in order to do that, there were very specific muscle groups that needed to be worked on.

When Natasha had walked in that first afternoon and handed Darcy a very pretty jade egg, the girl just blinked at her owlishly behind her glasses.

“Um,” she began. “I appreciate that you aren't like, starting me on the one-hundred pound weights and all, but I'm not noodle-y enough to need to start _this_ small.” Natasha had just _smirked_. That should have been Darcy's cue to run.

“It's not for your hand, _zaichik_. Go put it in and we'll begin.”

Darcy had read once how medical shock often manifested itself as the sensation of being pulled quickly through a tunnel and a momentary paralysis. Staring down at the little cloudy green egg in her hand, she had a vague memory of Ben Wa ads on the internet and the blood drained from her face.

“You're _joking_ ,” she breathed.

“I am not. Go.” Natasha gave her a gentle shove in the direction of the locker rooms and walked toward a rack of mega-sized rubber bands.

Darcy obeyed, feeling numb and kind of panicky as she slipped inside a restroom stall and latched it behind her. By the time she got it right, she'd dropped it (and subsequently cleaned it off) five times, bruised her shin and smacked her head on the door. It felt _weird_. Sitting felt weird, standing felt weird, walking was terrifying. She almost didn't go back out, but a firm knock on the locker room door brought her sharply back to herself.

She was Darcy Lewis, damn it. She'd driven (however unwillingly) into an inter-dimensional tornado and tasered the God of Thunder without even flinching. She was _not_ going to be beaten by a vag-egg.

And she wasn't.

It took some getting used to and no mistake. It wasn't easy and it never stopped feeling awkward. It wasn't the only part of her strength training, but doing those with it in made her hyper-aware of her body in a way she never had been before.

By the end of her third week, Darcy was beginning to feel like a superhero in her own right. For the first time in her life, she was quite literally the mistress of her own body. Her energy levels were ridiculous. She was getting through her rigorous days on half the coffee she'd needed at the start. Her brain felt like someone had zapped it with Myeu-myeu and her reaction time was absolutely ridiculous.

Bending to hook one end of the orange band on the D-ring clip anchored in the floor, Darcy grabbed the other end and turned around so that she could pull and release it with her hands over her head, tightening her triceps and shoulders.

“Why are you still working for SHIELD, anyway?” she asked Natasha, who was behind her with her own set of bands. “You could make a _filthy_ amount of money doing this for like, athletes and private security companies. Dancers, stunt guys, even just boring celebs would pay through the nose to feel like this.” Natasha laughed under her breath and Darcy could see her reflection shake its head.

“They would demand that I tell them where I learned what I know,” she answered, tone and smirk reminding Darcy very much of a smug mother cat. “And there wouldn't be nearly as much adrenaline involved.” Darcy had to snort at that. Natasha was a shameless rush junkie. “Besides,” she concluded, stepping away from her band and rolling her shoulders. “How do you know I'm not already 'filthy' rich?”

That was a fair point. Darcy really didn't know if she was or not, but that wasn't the part that stuck in her head.

“Why would it matter if they want to know how you know?” she asked. SHIELD wasn't as public as, say, the FBI, CIA or NSA, but after the Avengers kinda saved the planet, it wasn't a big secret either.

“Because the Sparrow School should stay in the realm of storybooks.”

_That_ made Darcy's jaw hit the floor. “No way...” she breathed. She'd read Tom Clancy, man. That was just... just... A brilliant grin slowly split her face. “You are the best Jedi Master _ever_.”

 

*

 

_On the years where there's no Olympics_ , Darcy thought to herself as she ducked behind a desk and waited for a lull in the rapid tattoo of gunfire, _they should most definitely throw a session of Spy Games_.

Spy Games was what she called the three hours out of each afternoon/evening where she and Natasha ran through identical situation simulations to see which one would finish with a success first. It was her second-favorite part of the day. (It had been her first favorite, and then there were _tanks_ to play with.)

Moving on the balls of her feet, she kept super low so that the line of desks would provide good cover. All of these PCs had been locked down and she didn't really have time to crack someone's password when she didn't even know the login name. Aha! Spying a screensaver that wasn't generic enough for a login screen, she tucked one shoulder underneath her and rolled across the empty space between the desks

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck,” she muttered to herself, dealing with the sharp flash of pain in her own weird way. Note to self: Rolling like in the movies? It fucking _hurts_ if the wrong angle is hit on the shoulder blade going down. She hissed and rolled that shoulder to ease some of the tingling and pulled the keyboard off the desk and down to rest on her lap as she closed-leg-squatted behind the desk.

“Paydirt.” Hitting 'enter' brought up a user desktop someone had forgotten to log out of and keyboard shortcuts brought up the command-line prompt she needed. Natasha almost always beat her _to_ a useable system, but software and networks were Darcy's babies. Doing whatever needed to be done was not going to be the problem. The snag was deciding which method would best achieve the goal.

Natasha believed in vague goals, citing that no boss ever really had a good plan for achieving what he wanted, just that he wanted it and could pay to get it done. The legwork was up to them. Today's goal was just _Stop the launch_. Darcy used to hate orders this vague, because she was so worked up over which method was okay or allowed that she'd waste valuable time on it and get shown up every time.

Then she'd had a very calm and patient explanation on how there was no such thing as an unacceptable method.

“You've got a healthy conscience, _zaichik_. You're the one who has to live with your actions, no one else. If you have an idea and you can live with it? Go for it. Have _fun_. That's what the job's all about, no?”

That had flipped on a lightbulb inside Darcy's head. Now? Now she _loved_ the vague orders. It gave her room to be... creative. Like now. She felt her lips twisting into a wicked grin she didn't even bother trying to suppress – there was no one here to tell her she looked really creepy doing that. Her fingers flew across the keys, tongue poking between her canines in concentration as she finished up the last few lines and then hit enter. The sound of roaring engines flooded the room via speakers, followed quickly by two klaxon sirens.

Exercise over, Darcy was free to straighten and stretch, tossing the keyboard back on the desk and feeling quite satisfied with herself. Natasha strode into the room from the door on Darcy's right and she looked pretty pleased, too.

“I told you not to get too cocky over the coding. Launch sequences have failsafes on their failsafes,” she jabbed teasingly.

“What do you mean?” Darcy replied, adjusting her tone and expression to the picture of innocence. Natasha was instantly suspicious.

“I heard your engines fire. You must have botched something in the function syntax.” Darcy just smiled and gestured toward the monitor where the scoring system showed that Darcy had, in fact, won that challenge. Natasha leaned over the desk to read it and then twisted to give Darcy a look over her shoulder. “The point of the exercise was the launch, _zaichik_ , not the actual simulation code.”

“I didn't touch the simulation program, I _swear_.” Darcy was one-hundred percent serious about that – she didn't cheat at this. Even so, she struggled to keep a straight face.

“What aren't you telling me?” Natasha finally asked on a sigh. Darcy reached over her and pulled up the command-line again, then pointed at the list of variables at the top. Natasha's jaw fell open – though Darcy had to give her credit, it only fell open just a teeny bit – and she stared at the screen for a moment before pushing back from the desk and laughing.

“You swapped the values for the gravitational sensors.” Darcy didn't even bother trying to smother the smug grin now.

“Yep! The thrusters thought up was down and burned off all their fuel trying to push the ass of the thing through concrete.”

“You know, people like you are the reason I don't touch social media. You know that, right?”

“I do.” Darcy laughed and tugged at Natasha's elbow to try and drag her out of the simulation rooms and toward food. “It's how I save men all over the world from horrible deaths.” Natasha let herself be dragged to dinner, blinking innocently at Darcy.

“I wouldn't _kill_ them.” She paused for the space of time it took them to take three strides. “Maim them a little maybe, but not kill.”

Darcy's laughter rang through the halls.

 

*

 

At the end of her sixth week, Darcy got a text from Coulson to meet him in Conference Room A. She sent a quick text back asking if they were shipping out somewhere. He responded remarkably fast and told her no, they were not, and not to waste time.

So, since it was probably some trojan horse giving their network fits again, she sighed, placed a bookmark in her trashy paperback and made the trek from her 'training dorm' over to the tech wing. The conference rooms were all along one long hallway and Room A was at the very end. As she stepped over the threshold, she had both arms up to twist her hair up into a messy bun so it wouldn't get in her face and froze.

Conference Room A was chock full of Avengers... and she was wearing a pair of guy's pajama pants and a tank top.

“Er, sorry guys. I swear I thought he said Room A.” She spun on her heel and almost made it back out the door before Phil Coulson's voice stopped her dead.

“I did.” Cue slow spin back to face the room in general and one Agent Coulson in particular.

“You said we weren't going anywhere.” There was something dangerously close to a whine in her voice. This was incredibly embarrassing. Everyone was in spandex or uniforms but her. Even Jane was sitting off to the side in a Very Pepper Pantsuit. She didn't even have socks on.

“We're not.” To his credit, Phil Coulson looked about as uncomfortable as she felt. “I didn't realize you were already in bed.” It was only seven-thirty at night.

“I was reading,” Darcy grudgingly admitted, pulling out a rolling chair from the table and flopping down into it with a sigh. “I thought this was another network bug. Since I'm pretty sure Thor's solution would mean our servers met Meow-meow first-hand, I'm guessing that's not the problem.” Embarrassed and nervous Darcy was kind of snappy. Natasha took the seat on her left and gave her a subtle nudge with her elbow. She knew it was her nice way of saying 'Enough with the bitchy, Padawan,' and that she really should keep a civil tongue in her head while in a room full of people who could wipe the floor with her ass.

Darcy ignored it anyway.

“No, it's not.” Coulson offered her an apologetic-yet-reassuring smile and Darcy caved. It was disturbingly difficult to stay mad at him for long. “We were just finishing up here before I introduce you to your new assignment.”

“Huh?” Darcy shook herself. _Nice going, smartass. Way to look capable in front of an audience._ “I think you got your wires crossed, dude. I'm not even an agent yet.” She glanced at Natasha for some kind of signal but got nothing. Jedi Master had an _excellent_ poker face. “I've got to take a test or something still, right?”

“I believe I am to be your test.” The voice was smooth, soft and cultured – maybe faintly British. Darcy turned to the right and eyeballed the source.

He was tall and slender, like a swimmer or a dancer. He had messy brown hair that fell over green-blue eyes in a face that was all harsh lines and sharp angles. He dressed like a hipster and held himself like a lord. Darcy took her sweet time taking him in and decided that she liked what she saw. So, being her usual tactless self, she flirted.

“Suddenly I feel much better about this exam. Gonna have to study hard, but I think we can handle it.”

For a full minute and a half, the entire room was dead silent. Her 'test' blinked at her, a blank expression on his face for all of three seconds before a chilling snobbery took its place. Coming from someone who was probably the refugee offspring of a Russian warlord or something, it wasn't a reaction that surprised her. What surprised her was the fact that everyone else in the room seemed to be stuck on the 'blank shock' part.

“Oh my god,” Jane began quietly, breaking the silence with a wide-eyed look at Darcy. “You really can't see it, can you?”

“See what?” There was a tic in Natasha's jaw that told Darcy she did not like this one little bit, but there were no further clues to be had from her teacher. No one else was answering her, either.

“You know, it's bad enough that I got tricked into showing up to this thing in my pajamas, but now everybody in the room seems to know something I don't. Which, okay, not like that's anything new at all, but since this _apparently_ involves me, I'd like some of these blanks to start getting filled in. Like, now.”

“You've been assigned as handler for SHIELD's newest arrival, Agent Lewis.” Part of Darcy was pretty sure Coulson had substituted 'Agent' for 'Miss' in a bid to keep her from completely losing her shit, but the other part kind of liked the sound of 'Agent Lewis', so she let him get away with it. “For his own protection, his appearance has been altered.” Coulson cleared his throat and flipped through the open folder of papers on the table in front of him. “It was not performed through any method we are familiar with. Everyone in this room knew him well enough to see through it. Some,” and here he shot a look at Jane and then Barton, “of us weren't convinced it would work.” Darcy felt the bottom of her stomach hit the floor. She hadn't seen through it. He'd been her test and she hadn't seen through it.

“Right then,” she said, pushing her chair back and popping up to stand between it and the table. “Well, I don't recognize him, so I'll just go to bed now. I get up at five, you know.” For some reason she couldn't work out, Coulson looked to the new kid, who was looking at Darcy with so much smug superiority that she wanted to rip out his trachea and use it for a chew toy.

She... had been spending _way_ too much time with Natasha.

Just as she went to turn and flounce off, a flash of movement headed toward her on her right sent her body into a response before she had time to think about it. Grabbing the wrist headed her way, she pulled it forward and over her leg, causing its owner to overbalance and drop to his knees, smacking his cheekbone against the table on his way down. The arm she had hold of she twisted behind his back and kept just enough tension on it that he wouldn't be able to move much without doing some damage himself.

“You know,” the man ground out against the table. “If you'd done that in leather, I'd have paid you for it.”

Holy shit. She'd just man-handled Tony fucking Stark. She released him immediately and took a step back, noticing with no small amount of pride that the British prep-school punk no longer looked so superior. “You couldn't afford what I'd charge for that, Tony. God, why'd you have to sneak up on me like that?” He stood and rubbed at his cheekbone, holding up a little mini walkie-talkie – painted oh-so-tastefully in red and gold. “And you felt the need to shove this in my face... _why_ exactly?”

“I was gonna stick it in your ear and hit the vibrator button. It's initiation for anyone who gets to use my party wagon services.” She reached for it and he yanked it back out of her reach. “Ah, ah, ah. You sucked all the joy out of this, so I'm revoking your merit badge. Thanks for playing, please try again.” And despite his flippant manner, he groaned as he sank into her recently-abandoned chair and stared balefully at Coulson. “You got ice packs here anywhere? Maybe a plastic surgeon on staff?”

“Mister Stark-”

“If she's ruined my face, I am so suing you guys.” He gestured toward his jaw and gave Darcy what she was sure was supposed to be a meaningful look. “I sell things with this face. It's worth at least ten, maybe fifteen billio-”

“Mister _Stark_ ,” Coulson interrupted a little more sternly.

“What?” Only Tony Stark could look that innocent while being absolutely not. “Oh.” Shrugging, he reached out and took the small blue plastic bubble Agent Coulson had pulled from... Actually, Darcy had no idea where he'd gotten that.

These were thoughts she so did not want to be having. The guy still had spear-shaped holes inside his chest somewhere. He should not be capable of Siegfried and Roy.

“Now that the opening drama is out of the way,” Coulson began, flipping through a few pages in his folder. “Does anyone else feel the need to comment or can we proceed?” When Coulson posed that question so calmly, so... _blandly_ without even looking up from his paperwork, Darcy's respect level for him went up about nine notches. “Excellent. Agent Lewis, this is the personnel file for your new assignment.” He pulled a much thinner folder from the paperwork in front of him and slid it across the table to her.

At first, all Darcy could do was stare at the manilla with a blank expression. Whatever was in that folder had everybody in the room on edge. Just as she worked up to reaching for it, a very audible sigh distracted her.

“This is ridiculous. It's a name, not a viper.” Darcy narrowed her eyes at the new kid, who had enough venom in his voice to _be_ a snake, despite his statement. “I'm -” He stopped mid-sentence, his mouth working furiously as he tried to say a word his voice would not form. Amused, Darcy looked for a new seat. Since Tony had taken hers and there wasn't a free one to be had without borrowing from another room, she snagged the folder from the table and sat on Tony. Snake-boy got a smirk. It was so refreshing when stuck-up pricks were embarrassed in public.

“What's the matter, cat got your tongue? You look like my brother trying to belch,” she quipped, flipping open the folder and elbowing Tony in the ribs when his hands strayed places she'd rather they wouldn't. “Honestly, you're worse than a recovering alco-” The name and photo that stared up at her made her face drain of color. With a motion so fast she heard something in her neck go 'pop', she looked up at the new guy and then back at the folder.

Now that she knew, Darcy was more than a little freaked out that she hadn't seen it before. It wasn't like the appearance was radically different. A cut-and-color, some colored contacts and a little time in the sun could have achieved the same look. None of those things would stop him saying his own name, though. Looking back up at him, Darcy noticed he was beginning to go a bit red and she had a split-second of completely irrational fear that he would choke to death trying to force his name out of his mouth and then she'd have to explain to Fury – and possibly the God-King of Asgard – _why_ her assignment was dead five minutes into it.

“Whoa, easy there tiger. You're Loki. I get it. Just... breathe.”

And he did, shoulders slumping forward as the breath left him in one long sigh. “Yes,” he answered softly. “I am as you say.” Darcy watched him a moment longer – just to make sure he wasn't going to stop breathing again – then turned back to Coulson with a sense of calm determination.

“What's the mission, boss?”

Coulson stared at her a moment before answering. She was pretty sure it had to do with her calmly demanding information about a Very Serious Mission while sitting on Iron Man's lap. She had to bite the inside of her mouth to keep from smiling. That would have spoiled the effect.

“The entity known as Loki has been remanded into SHIELD custody for the duration of his sentence. In light of the extenuating circumstances surrounding his actions, the Eikseidr has declared his punishment be served by working here in repairing the damage he has caused.”

Darcy wrinkled her nose at the alien word. “And this Hike-zigh-der thing is, what, an Asgard court of some kind?” To her surprise, it was Loki who laughed and answered.

“The Eikseidr is the consciousness that controls Yggdrasil. She is the closest thing Asgard has to a god. Even Odin would not dare defy her ruling.” Darcy let out a low whistle.

“Damn. Guess there's always a bigger fish.” Tony snorted behind her, but her new assignment didn't seem to get the reference. “Nevermind, Earth thing.”

“What's the alias, Coulson?” Hawkeye interrupted what could have been a delightful explanation about the premise of 'food chains', but Darcy couldn't really fault him for it. It couldn't be easy to sit quietly in the same room as the guy who turned him into a mind-slave. Barton noticed her odd look, but must have misinterpreted it, because he went on to explain his question further. “I mean, if he can't say his name to strangers, obviously whoever this god of his is doesn't want him running his big mouth.” She noticed that Loki's jaw clenched and the skin around his eyes tightened at that remark, but he did not comment. “So what's he supposed to go by while he's here?”

Oh. Darcy hadn't even thought about that. “This is why I should never answer my phone after pjs go on. Did anyone make coffee yet?” Dr Banner slid the silver pot down the table and tossed her one of the styrofoam cups. She smiled her thanks and doctored her cup while the others tossed alias ideas back and forth. Even Thor looked up from where he'd been engrossed in something on Jane's smart phone to add his own suggestion.

“Erik! It is a noble name, fit for a man of knowledge like my brother.” Darcy winced and shook her head. Erik Selvig hadn't ever really... recovered from his own ordeal with Loki. She wasn't sure exactly how he would handle his former captor having his name, but she'd place bets that it wouldn't be good.

“It's a nice name, big guy,” she began, trying to let him down gently without making things even more uncomfortable than they already were. Her gaze flicked to Loki, who met it and nodded very slightly.

“Your friend would be very confused, brother. Would he not? Such repetition is tiresome at best and the worst fool's attempt at humor at the worst.” Thor accepted this and Darcy only waited until the blonde giant looked back at the phone screen before mouthing 'thank you' at Loki. He inclined his head in her direction while poor Steve suggested 'something simple' like Tom or Harry.

Hey, the guy might be a mass-murdering megalomaniac, but if she had to babysit him, she'd rather have a cooperative psycho than an uncooperative one.

“Donald,” she suggested, meeting Jane's gaze and letting her mouth twist into its usual lop-sided grin. Jane had been altogether too quiet throughout this whole thing, so Darcy felt especially proud of being able to wrest a smile from her friend – even the small one her reference got.

“I like it. Let's do that one,” Tony added from behind her. She rolled her eyes and looked at him over her shoulder.

“That's because you're a sadist, Stark. As if I would saddle anyone with 'Donald'.”

“In this case, I think it'd fit. Donald Dick. Like Donald Duck, but, you know, more _him_.” He gestured toward Loki in a vague sort of motion. Darcy narrowed her eyes and twisted around to get a better look at his face. Tony Stark was always, _always_ flip. However, there were tones within the 'Stark Snark' and this one was confusing her.

“That's almost a compliment coming from you. Trying to make new friends?”

“I don't play well with others, remember? And if you're refusing to accept the genius of Donald, I got nothing.” Despite his sass, Darcy thought Tony looked oddly uncomfortable. “So what's it gonna be, princess? It's not like it's a puppy we can just whistle for. Man's gotta have a name.”

No, Darcy could agree that whistling for him _probably_ wasn't the way to go, but the whole canine thing gave her an idea.

“Peter Fox,” she said, looking between Coulson and Loki. Behind her, she felt more than saw Tony putting his face in one hand, shaking his head and muttering under his breath. She couldn't make out all of it, but what she _did_ get – _Brer Fox, he lay low_ – made her grin. At least someone got it. Coulson nodded.

“It's an acceptable alias. I can have his papers drawn up by morning.” Coulson started stacking _his_ papers, obviously considering the matter closed. Darcy, however, wasn't quite finished yet.

“Well?” she pressed, looking at Loki expectantly. He feigned surprise.

“Oh, you mean to tell me that I actually get the honor of being consulted with regards to my own name?” He was good. The tone of surprised sincerity was _just_ too strong to be real. Those with the right sense of humor – Darcy and Tony and Natasha – understood the mockery in it. Those who didn't – Steve and Thor and Banner – looked away with varying degrees of guilt on their faces. Darcy was amused and didn't bother trying to hide it.

“The rest of us got stuck with our names without any say in them. Why should you be any different?” Tony piped up, leaning to one side to look at Loki around Darcy. He had him there and from the looks of it, Loki knew it too.

“Fine, Peter Fox is... acceptable,” he sighed, everything about him screaming 'I am humoring you petty mortals'. “But I refuse to answer to something so plebeian as that given name. I believe there is a country called Britain whose natives speak as my brother and I do. There it is the custom to refer to work colleagues by their surnames alone. That will be sufficient.”

And as if _he_ were the one running the meeting and not the subject _of_ it, Loki spun on his heel and walked out in the most graceful dismissal Darcy had ever seen. What surprised her even more was that no one objected. Although, when she thought about it, most people were probably just glad they could scatter. When Natasha stood to leave, however, Darcy reached out and wrapped a hand around her wrist, standing and hauling Tony up behind her.

“Ohhhh no. You, my wonderful, fantastic Jedi Master, are going to get a dozen big bottles of vodka and meet me in the east lounge. _You_ ,” she turned to Stark, “are going to round up the problem children and bring them along. I need to be shit-faced drunk not to think about what I just signed on for and I'm _so_ not doing it alone.”

Never in her life had Darcy been so grateful that nobody argued with her. She was pretty sure nothing in Boot Camp had even _begun_ to cover this.

 

 


	7. Liars and Prophets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Not hate, no. The women of Asgard have all of the same rights as the men. A daughter can inherit lands and titles from her parents just as a son can. But women are different than men. A man is expected to be strong in body, to take up arms and become a stout and straightforward warrior – or at least an honest craftsman who lives by the work of his own hands. A woman is not always expected to be strong, but if she is, it is to be in strength of the mind. Magic, lore and knowledge are the realms of women. The healers are women, the lawyers are women, the financiers and the merchants are women. In these, there is some leeway; a man can become a lawyer or a merchant if he wishes it enough to struggle, just as a woman can become a warrior or a smith if she desires it enough to sacrifice for it, but the sorcerers are _always_ women.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So first of all, this is not Monday. It's four days late because I did a silly thing and thought I'd have it out by Monday since it was half-finished, but _saying_ that was tempting fate I guess, but better late than never? (Someone smack me next time I try to give a deadline for anything.)
> 
> This is our first in-depth look at certain pieces of Loki's psyche and some Asgardian history and culture to boot. This necessitated some stuff be done from his POV, which made me second-guess everything I wrote. In the end, the Loki-voice in the section of my head where my characters hang out hit me upside the head and demanded I just let him talk, so if this is shit, I'm blaming him. 
> 
> As always, thank you for coming with me on the next leg of this crazy journey. All of your kudos and feedback make me smile every time I see them.

_He stood in the midst of battle, smoke pouring from his palms in a desperate attempt to obscure them from the enemies that flanked them on all sides._

_He stood there and watched in mute horror, frozen in shock as he watched one of the Svartalf warriors leap at his brother, her spear perfectly angled to pierce through his unprotected throat._

_He stood there and could do nothing but scream in warning and denial and some raw fury that he did not wish to examine too closely._

_He was still standing there when old Hrungnir shoved Thor hard enough to make him fall, and he was there still when the spear drove through their teacher's heart. He heard his brother's anguish, along with Sif's. While his friend's eyes held nothing but anger and blame when he met them, his brother's had more self-loathing than he'd ever seen in them. It terrified him._

_The ground under their feet began to shake violently, whole pieces of it falling away and tumbling into the void below. Suddenly there was no one but he and Thor, his brother losing his footing as the ground he stood on crumbled. Loki ran forward to where familiar arms clung to the edge, lungs burning and heart thudding hard in his chest. The distance between them seemed much further than it had at first and when he finally slid the final few feet to grab at his brother and tug him up to safety, Loki looked into Thor's eyes. He saw no life in them. He saw empty anguish. He saw **himself** reflected in his brother's blue gaze as Thor let go of his grip on the ground and willingly fell into darkness._

_He screamed down into the spinning void, hand reaching toward his falling brother as if he could save him by sheer will alone. A heavy thud behind him made him whirl around, chest heaving. Thor stood there in his ceremonial armor, next to Odin in all his glory._

“ _You have failed, Loki Laufeyson. You do not measure up to the glory of this realm. You do not deserve its bounty – or the love of its people.” Odin's voice then lowered to a whisper. “You are unworthy.” Lowering the tip of Gungnir to rest against his son's chest, Odin pushed forward, piercing Loki's heart and sending him plummeting down into darkness._

_The last thing he saw before the madness overtook him was Thor's blue eyes. They were still so –_

**BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM.**

Shooting up in bed and covered in cold sweat, Loki gasped for air as he tried to gather his bearings in unfamiliar surroundings. Before he could remember anything past the acidic panic in his gut, there was an electronic beep from outside and the click of a handle being turned.

“Hey, come on. It's 8:30 already.”

It was his new jailer, pushing through his door wearing shorts, running shoes and some very obnoxious-colored midriff-baring top. He tensed, drawing himself up stiffly despite his lack of covering sleepwear and lifting his chin in defiance.

“It is considered quite rude to barge into a room that is not your own. You could have entered in the middle of something to offend your feminine sensibilities.” He kept his tone calm, allowing only a hint of dryness to satisfy his irritation. It was just his luck that she picked up on it, her mouth twisting into that aggravating crooked smirk he'd seen several times during yesterday's disaster.

“Then at least I'd have gotten a good show before I jump in the shower.” That smirk grew into a grin. If Loki didn't know any better, he'd swear she was attempting to... flirt. Certainly she didn't seem bothered that he wore only the sheet. “You've got ten minutes. Get dressed, we'll eat and then we gotta ship out for the day.” She darted back out of the room and closed the door behind her, effectively robbing him of his chance to get the last word.

As he stood and stretched, he absolutely refused to admit that had done anything to worsen his already sour mood. With a motion as thoughtless as breathing, he summoned his clothing to him, his hand flicking down over the air in front of his torso. Only... nothing happened. With a sickening lurch, he remembered and instinctively reached for his magic at the same time.

Loki had been bound before. He had experienced the sensation of having his power sealed inside him as though with chains and bars. He could sense his magic, feel its warmth, but he could not _use_ it. This was different. It was not as though his magic had been caged, but as if it had never existed in the first place. He knew where it should be, that place at the base of his skull that had always flared with light and life and vibrant energy, but it was only memory now, a ghost sensation of a limb that had been severed. It made him feel sick.

He sat back down on the edge of his bed, bare to the world as he held his head in his hands and tried to regain some sense of balance. He was cold. He had never felt cold before in his life, but he could feel himself shivering – his body acting on instinct to generate the heat his bare skin was losing to the open air.

Three sharp knocks made him jerk in that direction, eyes narrowed at a door that did not open. “If you're out here in five minutes, there'll be eggs. Otherwise you're on your own.” He heard footsteps retreating – though he hadn't heard them approach – and relaxed just a little. Inhaling deeply, he closed his eyes and felt his heartbeat slow. The fact that he still had some control over his body was a welcome piece of familiarity in a world spun on its ear. It gave him the strength to stand and hunt for clothing among the things that had been provided for him.

He kept his eyes down as he walked the short hallway between his room and the small kitchen that served their wing of dormitory-style dwellings. It burned in his gut that these pathetic beings could see him and feel superior, but above all else was survival. No longer could he rely on his magic to sustain him, nor his powerful physiology to protect him. The less antagonizing he appeared, the easier his life would be and the more he could focus on learning the rules of this newest game. Once he understood the strategy by which the Eikseidr played this, it would only be a matter of time before he could master it.

He had learned all too well... Even a _god_ could be beaten at her own game.

The kitchen was a surprisingly pleasant room, especially for its being in an underground government facility. His jailer was there, standing in front of the stove wearing old and practical clothing. She must have heard his footsteps, because she twisted around to see him. Her eyes traveled down his body, but for once he didn't feel anything suggestive in it. She nodded, seemingly finding him acceptable, and turned back to the stove.

He swallowed the bile in the back of his throat. How _dare_ she merely look at him as if he were only barely acceptable? It was a level of disrespect he had tolerated in Asgard out of necessity, but this was -

“How do you like your eggs?” There wasn't any warmth in her voice, but there wasn't any malice to it, either. Loki felt oddly deflated.

“I do not...” He bit his tongue and turned away.

“Oh, duh. Sorry, my bad. Um, over easy is where they're just dropped into the pan and cooked until the white is solid and the yolk is still pretty much liquid, over hard is like that only the yolk's cooked all the way, scrambled is where it's all mixed together and cooked to a fluffy sort of... solid thing. There's hard-boiled which … you know, I love eggs and even I'm kind of grossed out by how they sound.”

She must have seen the disgust on his face, because she appeared thoughtful. “No wonder it took all three of us to get Thor to try them.” He stiffened at the mention of his brother, but she didn't seem to notice. “Here.” She stood on tip-toe to reach a high shelf inside one of the cabinets, pushing several other boxes out of the way before pulling out a small blue one and tossing it his way. “Those are blueberry. I figured if you didn't like them, at least they'd be ones I eat.”

He caught the odd package with ease and turned it around to examine the writing on it. “Pop Tarts?” he read aloud questioningly, looking up to see if his jailer was serious. He half expected some sort of cruel joke to be played at his expense any moment. She just laughed and gestured for him to try them before turning back to pay attention to her own breakfast.

Sliding one finger under the tabs at the box's top, he opened the cardboard carefully and lifted one silver-wrapped package from within. He twisted it one way and then the next before tearing the foil and meticulously peeling it back from the tarts inside. One of the pastries he left in the package while the other he pulled out and gave an experimental sniff. It didn't _smell_ terrible. Loki sighed and took an experimental bite.

It was like someone had boiled pure sugar into a paste and stuffed it inside a crust covered in hard sugar frosting. His eyes widened and watered, his stomach giving a decidedly unhappy lurch as he bent to one side and spat the mouthful in the small metal garbage can. Only once the revolting sweetness had left his mouth did he get a faint hint of blueberry – as if the fruit were merely half an afterthought to the filling. When he straightened again, his jailer was turned away from her cooking and staring at him like he'd just turned blue.

It was a mark of his very strange life that he actually looked down at his hands to make sure he hadn't.

“Well.” His study of his still-pink hands was interrupted by her slightly exasperated sigh. “That sucks. We've now officially exhausted my knowledge of Asgardian food preferences.” She pulled a mobile device from her pocket and pressed a button at the top, examining something on the opening screen before stuffing it back in its place and grabbing two plates from the cabinet. Half of the contents of the skillet went on one and half went on the other. The empty skillet she set in the sink and ran water over before pulling two pomegranates from inside the refrigeration unit and two forks from the drawer next to it.

“Sorry there isn't much,” she offered plainly as she set one of the plates in front of him. “I'd only planned on enough for one, but the pomegranate's fresh. Or if you don't like those, there's apples and grapes around here somewhere. Normally we've got bananas too, but Tony goes through two bunches every time him and Dr. Banner have a sleepover.”

He stared at his plate in a moment of pure confusion. Eggs and cheese and onions and peppers and sausage had been sliced, diced and cooked together into a lumpy mass that looked vaguely disgusting. Realizing that the pastry had looked harmless and tasted foul, Loki picked up the fork and speared a small bite of the unappetizing mixture. He was pleasantly surprised. Perhaps this world's food only truly tasted nice when it looked horrid. It wasn't something he'd taken particular notice of on his last visit.

Once she had established that her charge would eat what was in front of him, the woman fell to her own meal and left him in peace. Loki was disconcerted at the implications of his warden halving her own meal for the sake of ensuring he'd eaten a breakfast he found palatable. The motivations for such things were dangerous when unknown and not planned for. He was, however, grateful for the silence and relished the treat of his favorite fruit once the mixture of eggs had been devoured.

“ _Dammit, Jim – I'm a doctor not a merry-go-round!”_

The badly recorded voice coming from her pocket startled them both.

“That's our cue to meet the cavalry. You ready?”

He didn't reply, but nodded and popped the last bite of pomegranate in his mouth as he stood and followed her.

 

*

 

Clint crouched on the floor of an apparatus used by one of the thousands of window-cleaners who made their living in the heights of New York City. This one had been abandoned during the events of the invasion, but it suited his purposes just fine.

Anyone watching the cavalcade of manpower slowly surrounding the city's 'Dead Zone' would have known something big was about to go down. Then again, they would need to know what they were looking for, first. Few did.

Clint “Hawkeye” Barton was one of those few.

The operation was moving smoothly, but it would be a few minutes more before the main event arrived. It gave him time to look out over the devastation surrounding Stark Tower. The Chitauri had certainly left their mark. Whole streets were blocked by chunks of steel and glass and concrete. The skeletons of skyscrapers stood like urban scarecrows, their girders rusting quickly in their brief time of naked exposure to the elements. It smelled of gas and coolant, blood and filth.

He wasn't sure if he was comforted or sickened by the fact that it could have been much worse.

The Avengers Initiative had done its work. Their ragtag 'team' had worked together with a surprising level of cohesive efficiency. Up against impossible odds – even sabotaged by well-meaning leaders of their own people – they had avoided the most major of the possible disasters and prevented the damage from spreading any further than this epicenter; five square blocks of smoke and devastation.

His earpiece beeped and Barton stiffened on his perch. That main event was about to arrive and he had to be ready for anything.

It was odd – bizarre even – to see the man who had once enslaved his mind pile out of the back of an SUV looking like a sullen teenager. Even from this distance – and even knowing his own orders and Loki's current state – it took a force of will for him _not_ to nock an arrow to his bow. He didn't, but his hand started to twitch.

Darcy – the newly crowned Agent Lewis – followed on his heels. Barton's frown only deepened.

“You really should have better faith in my teaching skills.” That dry quip was all the warning he had before the platform beneath him rattled at an additional weight and Natasha knelt next to him. Barton looked up and then down. There were at least fifteen stories in each direction.

“Do I even want to know how you got up here?” He tried very hard to suppress it, but there was no denying the lazy, almost indulgent quality to his voice.

“Probably not,” she admitted, a corner of her mouth twitching.

He grunted his reply to that, but nodded down at Darcy, who was strapping into a climbing harness and attempting to explain to Loki how to do the same. “Your training I trust. Six weeks of your stuff would make most Army Rangers piss themselves.” Natasha rolled her eyes and elbowed him lightly, but settled back to sit on the grated floor. “But she's what, eighteen?”

“Twenty-two.”

“Whatever. Either way, she's still way too young to go toe-to-toe with that bastard.” Memories of blue haze and icy hot daggers in his spine flashed behind his eyes and Clint tensed further still. “He's up to something, Tasha. I don't know what yet, but he is.”

The look Natasha gave him as she rested a hand on his arm was a worried one. He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. Tasha always grounded him right when he felt like he'd lose his footing and drown in nightmares. “What makes you say that?” she asked him quietly.

“He's too quiet. I've been watching them since we left base and he hardly says two words to anyone – even when they do talk to him first. Hell, you know Lewis. She talks enough nonsense for three people, but he doesn't do more than 'yes' or 'no' her.” Natasha gave him an odd look at that, but it didn't stay long enough for him to interpret.

“He's been stripped of every weapon or shield he's ever had and thrown into the hive he tried to stomp. I'd be quiet too, if it was me.” Clint turned narrow eyes on his partner.

“Since when are _you_ any fan of his?” he demanded. Even to his own ears, it sounded harsh and ragged. He was better off than Selvig, but he hadn't escaped his experience unscathed. There was something soft and sharp in Natasha's gaze. He couldn't make himself keep looking at it.

“I'm not,” she answered softly, turning to watch as Darcy and Loki were hooked into ropes and lowered into one of the gaping holes in the city street. Clint saw indulgence in the quirk of her lips and his stomach went cold.

“Not of him, anyway.” He hadn't done as good a job keeping the jealousy out of his voice as he'd hoped. Tasha shot him a sharp look, then rolled her eyes and rested her chin on her hand.

“She's a good kid, Clint.” Something in her tone made him bite down on the glib remark that rose in response. “You ever look at her file?” Barton shook his head. He was more the 'point and shoot' variety of agent. “You should. You two have a lot in common.” Barton winced – any kid that shared a backstory with him deserved a stiff drink and a pat on the back for surviving this long – but he eyed Natasha carefully as he took a drink from his pocket flask of ice water. “Give her a chance, Hawk. And don't make her job harder than it needs to be.”

He was a careful study of people by nature and the need to survive had honed the skill. It helped that – of all their motley crew – he knew Natasha best of all. He could see the maternal way she watched SHIELD's newest agent. It made the things already heavy on his conscience double in weight. He stood, stretched and laid a hand on her shoulder.

“Don't get too attached to her, Little Red.”

By the time Natasha could have demanded an explanation, he was three stories down and sliding.

 

*

 

When they were children – still small and bright and fragile – it had been Thor who was afraid of the darkness. He would not sleep without a fire in the hearth or a candle by his bed. Loki, by contrast, welcomed nightfall. In the dark, all things were unknown, mysterious, puzzles just waiting to be solved. He would sit up for hours watching and listening, thinking through all the possibilities for every noise and texture – learning to identify things by so much more than their shape or color.

He felt the irony keenly, therefore, when – as he and his jailer were lowered into the city's underbelly for the fifth day in a row – the coming darkness made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He looked over at her and could see her own fear written plainly across her face. It made him feel better, in a way even he was not proud of, to see that he was not the only one afraid.

They landed with soft squishing sounds in the mud-covered concrete and detached the ropes from their harnesses.

“I think tomorrow will be the last day of digging,” his jailer said, breaking the peace of the silence between them. “It'll be nice to do something different.” He ground his teeth and swallowed a nasty retort. The only time the maddening human was quiet was during their slow descent. Other than that, she never seemed to stop. “Come on, the sooner we start, the sooner we can get out of this pit. It's Friday and I have _serious_ episode-age to catch up on.” She held her hand out to him, fingers wiggling a bit. It was a ritual she continued to repeat each time they had to pick their way through the dark tunnels. He stared at it blankly, same as he had done the last four times she'd offered it. She laughed and dropped it, turning to lead the way through the darkness. He watched her walk away from him, puzzled and irritated by this infuriatingly … _different_ mortal.

The others were open in their distaste or admiration for him, depending on their own personal morals. His jailer, however... She never joined in the mockery or derision he endured from the others in their working group, but neither did she do anything to stop it. She made no secret of the fact that she found his physical form an attractive one, but did not behave as if she wished to share his bed. She did not actively seek out his company, spending her free time either alone with her computer or with one of her friends. That he could understand, but instead of suffering through her work with him in silence, she always spoke and laughed and behaved as if he _was_ one of those friends, like this was how she chose to spend her time instead of the assignment she'd been given.

For all his insistence on walking in the hazy grey area, straddling the line between one thing and the next, Loki relied on categorizing the people in his life to feel comfortable – to feel safe. Either someone was a pawn, an ally, an enemy – someone who wanted him or someone who feared him. He didn't care _which_ category they fell into, so long as they fell. With this maddening woman, there were none that fit. She did not worship him, admire him, but neither did she fear or despise him. She was simply herself and expected him to come along for the ride.

It made him want to shake her senseless, most of the time.

“Hurry up, would you? I do _not_ want to explain to Fury how you got lost and drowned in a sewer somewhere.” Her voice echoed off the metal and stone around them.

He most definitely did _not_ smile as he moved to catch up. The mental image of the vein in that large man's head pulsing and twitching upon receiving such news merely made his mouth twitch in disgust, that was all.

By the time he caught up with her, his jailer was standing at the end of the tunnel they'd managed to clear thusfar. She had two shovels and held one out to him. He took it with a sullen nod and braced it between his knees so that he could pull the thick gloves from his pocket and put them on.

“Hah! Take a look at that, guys. I bet that's the only morning wood our little sissy boy ever sees.” The voice was coarse and common, followed by a chorus of spiteful laughter. Loki felt bitter bile rising in the back of his throat.

“Matthew McAlister,” he drawled, keeping his fury under tight control and managing to sound bored and arrogant. “Why the sudden interest in the contents of my trousers, hmm? I hate to frustrate any blooming deviance – no matter how late in life it arises – but I'm afraid you are simply _not_ my type.”

Gloves now covering his hands, he took hold of the shovel and walked the few paces to where his jailer was already piling debris into one of the wheeled carts. The skin around her eyes was tight, he noticed, and there was something hard and dead in the normally lively blue irises. He found his curiosity piqued – trying to puzzle out the buttons and triggers on this particular human was fruitless and frustrating, but it only made him more interested in the final answers – but when he approached, she smiled at him and he merely bent to his work, sure he must have imagined it.

But Matthew wasn't finished with him, yet. When he turned to dump his own shovel full of dirt and shrapnel and wires into the cart, the hulking brute wasn't even a foot from his face, snarling menacingly.

“Should have expected that something like _you_ would think of filthy stuff like that, you nasty faggot. I guess that's all you've got left when you look like something my mom's cat threw up.” More raucous laughter followed, and Loki's grip tightened on his shovel. “I bet you've never even kissed a real broad, have you? What woman wants a limp-wristed fag like you when she could have a real man?” The insults – through crude – struck too close to home and Loki felt the familiar burn of rage flood his veins like ice.

The mental image of Matthew's face broken and distorted by the business end of his shovel was a deliciously bloody fantasy that would be criminally wrong to leave unfulfilled.

He shifted his grip on his shovel, lip curled in a snarl, when he felt a small arm wind around his waist and he froze.

“I can see why you might have forgotten what a real man looks like, Matt, since I'd be ashamed to look in a mirror too if I was you, but I can assure you, you're looking at one.” Turning slowly, Loki saw that, yes, his jailer had _draped_ herself around him like she was a breath away from ripping his clothes off then and there. “And I _promise_ , sweetie, he knows exactly what he's doing in the kissing department.” Her voice. She was... purring. Women only talked like that when they'd made a career of acts that would label them ladies no longer... So why was this lady of SHIELD making those noises inside her words? It wasn't right, it was -

If only he could fit her into a box like the others – where she belonged – he told himself later, he wouldn't have been so thrown by what happened next.

He was so busy trying to puzzle out just what in the nine levels of Hel she was doing that he didn't realize she was getting even closer until she had her hands on either side of his face, pulling him down to her level and kissing him in a way he'd never experienced outside the confines of a bedchamber. It was not at all unpleasant, but by the time he'd recovered enough sense to respond, she was pulling back and turning away. Loki stood there for a good two minutes before he recognized that the group of juvenile delinquents they shared their roster with had moved to the other end of the tunnel and that his jailer was back to shoveling bits of the ruined city into the cart.

Shaking himself, he adjusted his grip on the shovel and went back to work.

After another half hour of contemplation that was uninterrupted by the disturbingly quiet mortal next to him, he was still no closer to understanding. She had never interfered before. To do so now made absolutely no sense. Sticking his shovel deep enough in the loose ground that it would stand on its own, he turned to her with an exasperated sigh.

“Why?”

“Why what?” she parroted back, obviously forcing a lightness she didn't feel into her voice. “Why didn't I expect a 'thank you'? I would have thought that would be obvious. I don't really have breath to waste while shoveling a metric fuck-ton of mess – a mess you made, by the way – into buckets so the pipelines can be repaired.”

“Not that,” he replied, waving off both her assumption that expecting thanks from him would be futile and her attempt to remind him of his sins. “You kissed me.”

“Yep.” She popped the 'p' on the end of the word in a way that made him twitch and for the first time feel a sliver of understanding for Odin's habit of sewing mouths _shut_. “I mean, I understand if I'm not your first choice in a kissing partner, but I'm a pretty damn good kisser, so it can't have been _that_ bad. 'Lowly mortals' we may be, but I can't imagine the mechanics are that much different in Alienland.”

“Asgard,” he corrected her automatically, frowning as her rambling took them both farther from his answer instead of closer to it. He was silent for a little while more, enough that she had managed to get half a dozen more shovels full of debris into their cart. “It was not... unpleasant,” he finally admitted, stiff and uncomfortable. The fact that she froze in surprise made him feel a little bit better about it and he continued. “What I do not understand is why you chose to do it. You have never stopped them before.”

She resumed her work, taking her time before offering any kind of answer. “Because this time you didn't provoke it. You didn't deserve it.” Her mouth set itself into a thin line. “You don't get to choose who you love.” Something in the way she said that made him stop and really take a look at her. The subject was a personal one, that much was obvious. Loki's curiosity was not yet satisfied, but he would need to tread carefully here.

“You... prefer the company of other women?” he ventured. He was very careful to keep his own neutral.

“Sometimes,” she answered quietly, returning his stare with a watchful intensity he had come to expect from wild things that had been backed into a cage. “When you grow up like I did, you learn to take affection where you can get it.” She paused and then finished quietly. “No matter what the outside's wrapped in.” She clenched her jaw then, and went back to work.

Loki turned her words over in his head as he lifted shovel after shovel into the cart. He could not find any evidence of a liar's insincerity. He could not see what benefit she could gain from making such things up. He examined the incident from every possible angle and only after doing so did he speak.

“In Asgard, they are called _argr_ ,” he began quietly, his voice pitched so that she and she alone could hear. “Men who accept another man into their bodies, who betray their natures to behave like women.” His jailer did not stop her work, but her body was angled in such a way that he could tell she was listening. “It is one of three insults for which you are legally justified in killing the man who so calls you. If you defeat him in combat, his death is seen as proof that his accusation was false. If he defeats you or you refuse to fight, you die at his hand. So great a thing it is to keep the genders separate that murder is allowed by the highest court.”

“Do your people hate women so much?” There was a level of horror in her voice that startled him, but then he remembered.

Her friend was very likely to marry into this world he described. For a moment, Loki toyed with the idea of twisting the truth into the worst possible light, to play on her assumption and perhaps ruin a bit of his 'brother's happiness in the process. It was a delicious idea, to be certain, but she had been honest with him in a brutally vulnerable way. Until he could accurately categorize her, it would be foolish and potentially dangerous to toy with her that way. That was why he shook his head, why he measured his words to offer comfort without lying.  He also didn't correct her assumption of 'your people'.  That was not a conversation he wanted to have here, now or with her.

“Not hate, no. The women of Asgard have all of the same rights as the men. A daughter can inherit lands and titles from her parents just as a son can. But women are different than men. A man is expected to be strong in body, to take up arms and become a stout and straightforward warrior – or at least an honest craftsman who lives by the work of his own hands. A woman is not always expected to be strong, but if she is, it is to be in strength of the mind. Magic, lore and knowledge are the realms of women. The healers are women, the lawyers are women, the financiers and the merchants are women. In these, there is some leeway; a man can become a lawyer or a merchant if he wishes it enough to struggle, just as a woman can become a warrior or a smith if she desires it enough to sacrifice for it, but the sorcerers are _always_ women.”

It hadn't always been that way, he knew, but those stories had been old before he was even born. Thinking about them brought his mother's face to mind and he squeezed his eyes shut against the tide of rough emotion that accompanied it.

“How old were you?” His jailer's soft words yanked him back into the present.

“What?” His voice was rough even to his own ears. It made his stomach burn.

“You had magic,” she stated simply, looking at him with a gaze too knowing for his comfort. “How old were you the first time you had to kill someone?”

In spite of himself, Loki was impressed. To make the leap from his magic to the nature of _argr_ and the fact that if he's still alive he would have had to kill an accuser was no simple jump of logic. Scattered and dizzying her mind might be, but there must be some element of brilliance in it, hidden perhaps, for her to come to the conclusion she did. He was glad that he'd chosen not to lie, this time. There would have been no benefit if she'd seen through it.

“Not long after my first half-century. The human equivalent would be... fourteen, perhaps. No more than fifteen or sixteen.” He delivered the information with deliberate blandness, watching eagerly for the fear and revulsion such a casual statement would incite.

He saw neither.

The emotion that lit her eyes and clouded her face was so intense that it took Loki longer than he liked to decipher it. When he did, it confused him further, which did nothing for his own temper. It was anger, white-hot and dangerous.

“You grew up in a world where some asshole tried to kill a fifteen year old kid... because he didn't think he was _manly_ enough?” Loki nodded, unsure where she was going with this train of thought, but morbidly fascinated by the journey. “And that was just... okay with everyone?” He nodded again. It was more complicated than that – it always was – but explaining the political victory that would have resulted from the death of an _argr_ prince would have been more than her furious mind could grasp, he was sure. “That is... I don't even have _words_ for... what the _actual_ fuck?” Her attempt to push a whole sentence past her indignation was entertaining, he'd give her that.

She stood frozen for another moment, mouth working soundlessly as she processed what she saw as some untold horror, then huffed out a breath and went to work with renewed vigor. Loki watched her for a while, caught somewhere between amused and exasperated by her reaction. When he finally opened his mouth to question her, she surprised him again by cutting him off with yet _more_ nonsense.

“Don't just stand there, dude. We are going to clear this last pile of shit and then you and I are going to hit up the redbox on the way home.” He debated a moment the merits of inquiring about this crimson cube she mentioned, but was again cut off by her rambling. “Honestly, for some big advanced society, you guys are insanely ass-backwards. There _are_ lessons normal fifteen year olds should get. They _should_ come from your parents, technically, but since yours are totally fine with their kid fighting for his life cause he's not a meathead jock, we're going to have to improvise. Thankfully, that's what eighties cult classics are for.” She looked over at him when he bent to work beside her once more and there was something in her crooked grin that unsettled him, though he could not name it for the life of him.

“Shovel faster, you've got a lot to catch up on.”

 

 


End file.
